Sequence
by arithenay
Summary: Sequel to Wavering. With the threat of Wesker's return looming overhead, Claire struggles to reclaim her life.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Rhythm

Eight weeks, three days, seven hours, and forty five minutes.

Claire drummed the eraser of her pencil against a sketchbad, searching her mind for ideas, trying to banish the litany of numbers from her head. She was supposed to be putting together a portfolio for the advertising company downtown. She was supposed to be finding gainful employment and escaping an eternity known only as "Chris' baby sister." She was supposed to be salvaging some element of stability from the remnants of her life and stitching it back together.

The clock switched over. Eight weeks, three days, seven hours, and forty six minutes.

Disgusted, she shoved away from the table and tossed the fridge door open, staring into its depths as though they might hide the answers to her problems. Instead, she found a bag of apples, a plate of leftover pizza, a bottle of water, and half a jar of ketchup. She'd known she would. She'd already opened the fridge five times in the last half hour.

The kitchen was _spotless_. Chris would be very impressed when he got home from wherever he was. She'd wandered into the kitchen several hours to find a carefully worded note stuck to the refrigerator door:

_Foolish and untrustworthy blood relative,_

_I am going out on a real, genuine date with one Jill Valentine. Please do not try to aid, rescue, or otherwise help me. It is not a zombie hunting date, I promise. I will be home before midnight. Probably._

Seriously -- please stay in just for tonight, Claire. Keep doors and windows locked. Call me if you need me. I have my cell.

_But only if you really need me, ok?_

Love ya,  
Chris

It made her smile. Chris rarely left her notes these days, and he was pretty careful about his wording when he did. He was lucky she _hadn't_ made plans for the night, though -- she wouldn't have taken kindly to having them disrupted in such a fashion.

Eight weeks, three days, seven hours, and forty seven minutes.

She sighed heavily and slumped in her chair, forcing her fingers to close around a pencil. She really had to produce some work. Her artwork ended abruptly after the Raccoon City disaster, and she couldn't drag in a portfolio demonstrating that she'd done absolutely nothing since then. She'd managed to doctor the dates on two of her better drawings, making them appear more recent, but she needed at least two or three polished sketches to round them out. Four or five would be better. And she needed them by this time next week.

Eight weeks, three days, seven hours, and forty eight minutes.

Damn it.

She doodled roughly on the page, hoping to get her mind moving. Idly, she sketched the outlines of a face, filling in the rough shapes of eyes, a nose, a mouth. Male face -- neat hair. Shading in the details, her mind a hundred miles away, she wondered what Chris was doing, and if she really wanted to know.

And she could only imagine where Leon was right now. He'd been called off on a "special assignment" three days ago and left in a hurry, promising to take her out to dinner to make up for it. Sometimes it seemed like everyone had a role to play except her. Leon, of course, was bound by threat of termination -- both of his job and his life -- not to reveal details of his work. She was the only one without official training, after all; she supposed it made sense if the others sometimes considered her an outsider. And Chris was her big brother; it was only natural he wanted to protect her.

Still. Still, still, still.

Eight weeks, three days, seven hours, and forty nine minutes.

She leaned back and looked at her work. Well, it was good all right -- a decent likeness, and somehow she'd captured the hard slant to the eyes. But she didn't know if she wanted a sketch of Albert Wesker in her portfolio.

What the hell, she decided, signing and dating it, rubbing out a few lines she didn't like. She hadn't meant to draw Wesker, but she had to draw _something_, didn't she? As long as Chris and Leon didn't see it, she'd be fine.

She slid the page between the folds of her portfolio. Somehow, she hadn't made him as mean as she would have if she'd set out to draw him. She'd made him look almost human.

_Don't fool yourself, kid. He's anything but._

Eight weeks, three days, seven hours, and fifty minutes.

She sighed again. She didn't know when she'd started counting the minutes since she'd escaped Wesker's captivity, but she knew she couldn't stop. She'd tried. She wasn't even doing it consciously anymore, but the moment she opened her eyes in the morning, there it was; the precise awareness of exactly how long she'd been free.

Followed by the cold chill of his words. I'll be back, like the Terminator, except much more frightening because he was _human_ in almost every way -- capable of thought, emotion. Capable of taking a terrible pleasure in the suffering of others that no machine could rival or match.

All at once she slammed her sketchbook shut. She didn't know what she was going to do for the rest of the night, but she needed a break. She'd played all the games of solitaire she could handle, checked her email twelve times since supper, and called all of her friends. Briefly, she contemplated going for a walk, but scratched that idea. As much as she hated to admit it, Chris was right -- all she had to do was give Wesker a chance and...

And _what?_ she asked herself bitterly. Doors and windows don't stop this guy. If he wants me, he'll find me.

She almost wished she would. Anything would be better than this, than counting down the minutes of freedom, knowing that any second it would all be snatched away again.

Eight weeks, three days, seven hours, and fifty one minutes.

FIfty two.

FIfty three.

The rest of her life slipping quietly away to the rhythm of an unseen drum, ticking like a clock, second by second, hour by hour.

Who was she kidding? She hadn't escaped at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Shades of Meaning

Claire was vaguely aware of a shift in her weight, the sensation of motion. She adjusted her weight, positioning herself more comfortably as she drifted in a mercifully dreamless sleep, her hands folded peacefully on her chest. She didn't know it, but she'd assumed the position of the dead, resting like a corpse in its coffin.

Chris laid his sister on her bed, pausing when she stirred, waiting until sleep reclaimed her to set her down completely. He left the blanket knotted in her limbs but drew her own quilt over her as well, smoothing her hair with a calloused hand. He hadn't done that since she was a child and he'd watched over her in countless foster homes, but it felt right now. "Love you, Frogface," he muttered, slipping out of the room. It was 1:33 AM.

Jill waited in the kitchen, rolling a glass of water between her palms, gaze fixed on Claire's closed portfolio. "Everything OK?" she asked as he came in.

"Fine. She'd fallen asleep on the couch, that's all. I took her upstairs."

Jill nodded, but seemed distracted. She'd been that way all night, ostensibly having fun, brightening temporarily whenever he questioned her. But something was wrong. Even Chris, male to the core, could tell that.

"Drink?" he asked.

"I'd love a glass of wine, if you have any."

"I can put beer in a wine glass."

She laughed. "Beer in a beer glass will be fine."

Chris popped the lids from two bottles of Kokanee. He poured one into a glass for Jill and carried the other bottle to the table.

For a few minutes they drank in silence. "I had fun tonight," Chris ventured at last.

"What? Oh -- yeah. Me too."

"The movie sucked, though."

A real smile broke through her face. "You mean the unlimited ammo?"

"Three hundred shots and not one reload, what are the odds? But actually I was refering to the complete lack of a script."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure there was a script. It's just that no one read it."

They shared a laugh, and for a moment things were as they'd always been. Then Jill's strange melancholy settled over her again, like leaves after a gust of wind.

Chris repressed a surge of frustration. Fifty bucks for dinner, twenty for the movie, thirty for drinks, and what was his reward? '_Oh yeah -- me too._' Great. Fanbloodytastic.

Not her fault, he reminded himself. Yeah, their relationship was straining; what did he expect? He was the one who'd refused to leave home for any reason, smothering Claire with his own fear and worry. He was driving everyone nuts, and he accepted that. In fact he was driving himself nuts. But this was Wesker they were talking about, and when you dealt with Wesker a touch of insanity could only help.

Still, this wasn't the ending he'd envisioned for his perfect date. He'd hoped for a kiss on the doorstep, stumbling through the living room, clothing flying into a heap.

Jill met his eyes and forced another smile. "It's getting late. I should probably..."

"Probably what?" he returned, more forcefully than he'd intended.

"Chris..."

"Jill, is something wrong?"

"You already asked me that. I said no."

"Then what's going on?"

"Come on, Chris, let's not do this."

"Do _what_?"

She sighed and shoved the rest of her drink aside. "Look, it's nothing. I'm tired, we're both worried about Claire and... him. I'm sorry I haven't been much fun tonight."

He softened. "You're always fun, Valentine."

"Even when I'm holding a gun?"

"_Especially_ when you're holding a gun."

They shared another genuine grin, and Jill reached across the table to take his hand. "Chris."

"Jill."

"_Chris_."

"_Jill._"

They laughed and she squeezed his fingers. "You're kind of hot, you know."

"So I've been told."

"Oh, really? By who?"

"Barry. I think he's got a thing for me."

She laughed, trying to hide a snort -- her least ladylike and, in Chris' eyes, most endearing trait. "Right. You're _supposed_ to say, I think you're hot too."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"You're not hot." She glared at him, and he tried to keep a straight face, but couldn't manage it. "You're more than hot, Jill. You're the most amazing, ferocious, intelligent, thoughtful, kind-hearted, deadly, person I've ever met."

"Wow. That's quite a string of adjectives."

"All true."

She slid around the table and into his lap. Chris couldn't stop a grin as his arms closed around her. "This is more like it."

"More like _what_, exactly?"

"Should I show you?"

"I don't know if that would be proper."

"Most improper in fact, Miss Valentine."

She grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him forward. "Mr. Redfield."

"Miss Valentine?"

"Shut up." And then she was kissing him, and Chris' arms were around her. All the frustration and worry of the last two months bled into that kiss, channeling through his lips into hers, releasing, abating. For the first time since he'd realized Claire was missing he was able to breathe, to think, to feel.

"Jill..." he gasped between kisses.

She hauled his lips back to hers, and Chris gave up all attempts at speaking. Instead he focused on her arms, her neck, her hair, communicating without words.

I love you, Jill.

I love you.

Without breaking their contact, he swept her into his arms and carried her towards the stairs, just as he'd carried Claire a short time before.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Impending

Still wrapped in the blanket she'd tugged around her shoulders the night before, Claire gazed out her window at the late morning scene. Not a busy street, but an active one, filled with people from all walks of life. So like Chris to live here. So like him to make his home where he was at once welcomed and inconspicuous, another face among many.

She raked her hands through her hair, trying to work through the tangles. Dreams. None of them pleasant. She'd opened her eyes this morning with a fresh wave of terror, a thought born of nightmares. Wesker had said he'd be back. He hadn't said _when_. It could be tomorrow or it could be in ten years. Maybe that was his real revenge after all: leaving her in an agony of doubt, always checking over her shoulder, jumping at every sound. Could she live like this much longer?

She knew Wesker was a man of action and tended to move sooner rather than later. But she also knew, both from Chris and her own observations, that he could be very patient when it suited him. Yes, he wanted success and power; yes, he wanted them now. But if he couldn't get them now, he would take them later.

When she came right down to it, she knew Wesker would always choose the shortest path _if_ it was equally viable. Faced between a treacherous shortcut and a certain roadway, he'd take the latter every time.

Which got her nowhere. She only knew she couldn't continue in this half-life of doubt and fear. She'd been planning to apply for a job? What was she thinking? How could she work with strangers when any one of them might be in _his_ employ?

Her hands trembled on her thighs, but she knew full well what she needed to do. If Wesker was coming for her, let him come. She wasn't going to ruin her own life, or Chris', waiting for him. And that meant she had to get away from Chris.

She started to stand, but her knees buckled and she had to take a few breaths. Who was she kidding? She didn't stand a chance against Wesker. This was a stupid, reckless plan, and she should climb back into bed and stay there.

But she couldn't. So she steeled herself and crept down the hall towards her brother's room. From the kitchen she heard voice's -- Chris and, presumably, Jill. She was terribly grateful. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was interupt them in bed. She prefered to proceed under the blissful assumption that her brother didn't _have_ a sex life, a preference she knew he shared.

She rooted through his things until she found it tossed carelessly under a pile of clothes in the closet -- the heavy, gleaming magnum revolver that could (she hoped) blow a hole through even Wesker's head. She'd fired it once on the firing range under Barry's supervision, and the recoil had knocked her flat on her bottom. With a grin, she'd told him she'd stick to more traditional weapons.

But now she needed the magnum's firepower. Actually, she needed a rocket launcher, or maybe a tank. But failing those, the magnum would have to do. She tucked it into her waistband and ducked into the washroom, taking a few moments to comb her hair and pull it back, brush her teeth, make herself look like less of a crazy person. Maybe she _was_ crazy, trying to track Wesker on her own. But she had to do it. Whether she killed him, he killed her, or she wound up his prisoner again, anything would be better than the endless waiting.

She stared herself down in the mirror, forcing steel into her eyes. She made herself only one promise. No matter what happened, no matter what he did to her, he would never hear her beg again. She could handle almost every other memory of her imprisonment. But the thought of her desperate, broken pleading made her cringe with humiliation and fury. _Never again_, she vowed, and prayed with all her heart she spoke the truth.

-----

"I'm going out," Clare called as she passed through the kitchen.

"Have fun," Chris replied absently, intent on not burning the bacon.

It took almost three seconds for what she'd said to sink in. "Woah," he cried. "What?" He shot into action, tearing through the house and arresting her with her hand on the doorknob. "What the hell are you doing?"

His sister fixed him with a bored expression. "Going for a walk."

"Not by yourself, you're not."

"Come on, Chris. How long do you think you're going to keep this up?"

Jill followed them into the porch, sweetly disheveled, dressed in one of Chris' long sweaters and oversized sweat pants. "Maybe she's got a point," she said.

Chris ignored her completely. "Is this because I went out last night?"

"No. Of course not. I just wanted some air. Is that asking too much?"

"We have a number of perfectly serviceable windows." His jaw set, he dragged her back into the house. Suddenly her nails sank into his hand, and he released her with a startled cry.

He stared at the bloody half-moons, then at Claire in disbelief. "Sorry," she said with a shrug. "But I'm not a toy, Chris. You can't just drag me around."

"Another point," said Jill from behind.

Chris spun on her. "Would you just keep out of this, please?"

"You're right; sorry I interfered. You're doing a masterful job on your own."

"Jill, shut up. Claire, get upstairs." He missed the indignant rage settling over Jill's face as he turned to his sister.

Claire snorted. "I'm not a child anymore. You can't make me do anything."

"I'm older and stronger, and I will drag you up those stairs if I have to."

Claire glared at him. "Try it."

Chris threw up his hands in disgust. "I'm not trying to piss you off, Claire! I'm worried about you!"

"You're always worried about her!" Jill shot back. "She's a grown woman, Chris; she has the right to go for a bloody walk by herself if she wants to!"

"I told you to stay out of this!"

"Well, I don't have to do what you say either!"

"Both of you shut up!" Claire hollered. "God! You see, _this_ is why I want to get out of here!"

"Oh, because of me?" Jill laughed harshly, her face red, her fists clenched. "That's rich. All I've heard for two months is Claire this and Claire that, and _you_ need a break from _me_?"

Chris was beginning to get the sense he'd made a terrible mistake. "Look, girls, let's just..."

"Don't call me girl!" Jill shouted. "I'm a police officer, or I was! Don't you pull that condescending crap you use on your sister on me!"

"Oh,_ I was a police officer_," Claire mimicked savagely. "Well, doesn't that make you special?"

"Why don't you shut your God damn mouth?"

"Why don't _you_ try sleeping in your own bed instead of parading around here like some overpriced whore?"

"Woah!" Chris caught Jill's shoulders as she lunged for Claire and shoved her back. "That's enough! Both of you, calm down!"

"Get out of my way!"

Chris' own anger began to stir. "Keep your hands off my sister, Valentine!"

"Right, everything's about her, isn't it?"

"Jill, why don't you go back to the kitchen."

"Why don't _you_ get stuffed?"

"You don't get to talk to him that way!" Claire screamed, stomping her foot. "You don't get to walk into this house and treat him like a toy and me like garbage! You're not that important!"

"Stop it!" Chris shouted. "Jill, knock it off!"

"_Jill_ knock it off? What about Little Miss Mouth over there?" She tossed her head and glared. "I wish we'd never rescued you, I really do. I wish we'd let you die in that pitiful little hole."

"Shut _up_!" Before he knew what he was doing, Chris took a swing at her. Only Jill's speed saved her; she instinctively dodged, his fist grazing her chin.

Dead silence fell. The three of them stared at one another. Chris looked at his hand as though he couldn't believe what he'd done. "Jill..."

Without a word, she shoved past him, jamming her bare feet into her runners. "Jill!" he repeated, but she was already outside, slamming the door behind her.

He hesitated, his eyes on Claire. "Go, you idiot," she returned unemotionally. "I'm OK. You'd better catch her now."

Relieved, Chris dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Don't go anywhere. We'll talk when I get back."

"Good luck."

And in his hurry to find Jill, he never noticed that she hadn't agreed.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: I don't usually do these, but this one is born of my laziness :) I wanted to include some of your awesome reviews on my website but didn't want to contact everyone for permission; at the same time, I don't want to quote anyone who doesn't want their comments public. So if any of this concerns you, check my website (http/www.carynscorner. under "What People Say," and if you find your review and would like me to remove it, just send me a quick email and I will happily take it down._

_Thanks again for your reviews, whether you let me post them or not! They make me feel :) :) :) :)_

Chapter Four

Loathing

Chris hated criminals, but, like most cops, he had a special place reserved in his hatred for child molestors, rapists, and wife beaters. Over the years he'd seen his share of all three, and it never ceased to sicken him. In his years working nights, he'd dealt with a particularly high number of the latter two. He couldn't count how many "domestic disturbances" he'd been called to, and he'd never grown accustomed to it. There was an instinctive protectiveness in him that seethed and boiled at the sight of a victim hunched pitifully on the floor, crying. He suspected all cops shared that protectiveness. It was what motivated them, drove them on: the thought of the victim, or potential victims, they might help or fail.

He supposed the wife beaters upset him the most because so often he was helpless to do anything about them. Most of the time, the frightened women refused to press charges. Chris would look at their swelling faces and see the shadowed bruises underneath and know this wasn't the last time he'd be called to this house. He'd never wanted to hurt anyone so badly as he wanted to punch those bastards who pummelled someone weaker and smaller to make themselves feel good. "They pick on people who can't defend themselves," he'd told his partner one night as they peeled away from yet another 'reconciled' couple. "We're the only ones who can help, and the victims won't let us. What kind of crap is this?"

He'd been young then, a rookie, and his partner, an older woman named Shirley Trass, had only smiled. "If we lived in another place or time, I'd beat the crap out of every single one of 'em," she'd told him, and he hadn't missed the bitterness behind that smile. "But we're bound by law, and law says that if the victim doesn't want help, we can't give 'em help. You'll get used to it, Chris. We all do. If you like it or accept it, you become a thug yourself; if you obsess over it, you drive yourself nuts. You get used to it and you keep on hating it. That's the best any of us can do."

Now, as he stumbled through the rain, an ironic smile twisted his lips. Apparently Chris Redfield's high and mighty morals lasted right up until the moment he found himself upset by something. My God, he'd almost _hit_ Jill -- not in training or in play, but in raw, animal anger. Only her speed and training had allowed her to dodge it. So Jill was a cop, so she was tougher and stronger than other women he knew. So what? Claire wasn't your average girl either, but let Leon raise his hand to her once and he'd never raise anything ever again.

He paused on a street corner, wheeling wildly. He knew Jill had taken off on foot; her car remained at her downtown apartment. But where was she? She couldn't have gone far; he was only a minute behind her. "Jill!" he called, his voice hoarse and unnatural. "_Jill!_"

He sensed her before he saw her leaning against the wall in a sheltered alley. She looked more tired than angry. "Stop shouting, Chris."

Warily, he approached. "Jill."

"Chris."

He reached out to touch her and she looked at his hand as though it disgusted her. Slowly, Chris withdrew. "Jill, I... I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I know."

"I... I don't know what else to say."

She sighed. "Don't worry about it, Chris."

Leaning against the opposite wall, he raked his hand self-consciously through his damp hair. Now that he faced her, his mind had gone blank. The situation was almost surreal -- after all they'd been through, she could still make him quiver and quake like a schoolboy on prom night. "Jill, I love you. I mean, you know that, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know it."

He waited with his heart in his throat, at last forced to say, "Do you... love me?"

"You know I do. But sometimes love isn't enough."

"God, Jill." He turned away, unable to face her. "I feel sick. What happened this morning... I wouldn't blame you if you hated me."

"I don't hate you. I love you." He turned back in time to see her shrug. "And what happened this morning has been building up for a few months, ever since Claire went missing. Look, I know how you feel about Claire, but you're asking too much of me. You're asking too much of _her_. You have to make a choice."

"You're not seriously asking me to choose between you and my sister?"

"Of course not. I'm asking you to choose between behaving like a rational, coherent person -- both as a brother and a..." Her voice trailed off, and she cleared her throat awkwardly. "Both with Claire and with me, and behaving like a lunatic. Because the way you're going right now, you're not only going to lose me. You'll lose your sister too. And then Wesker's revenge will be complete." Her voice softened at the look on his face. "I'm not saying this to hurt you, Chris. I'm saying it because somebody has to. I'm saying it because you can't see what you're turning into. I'm saying it because I love you."

He swallowed hard, suppressing the little voice of rage swelling in his mind. "Maybe you're right," he forced himself to say, and a burden lifted as he said it. "But I don't know how else to behave. I'm scared, Jill, I really am. You know what Wesker's like. Claire still won't talk about what he did to her. God only knows -- God, and maybe Leon," he added, allowing some of the rage to spill over. "I don't know how else to protect her."

Jill stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Her hands folded softly against his chest and he drew her into his arms, burying his face in her damp hair, letting her Jillness wash over him. "God I love you," he whispered.

"I'll help you Chris, I really will. However I can. But no more ranting and raving. No more taking off at any rumor of Wesker's presence. It has to stop."

"It will," he promised, clutching her to him. He had never thought of losing Jill. They belonged together, didn't they? They were made for each other. And if he could lose Jill, he could lose Claire too. That was what made his blood run cold -- not only the thought of losing them, but the realization that Jill was right; he was acting out of sheer madness, fulfilling Wesker's plan for him. "I have to talk to Claire," he realized.

Jill squeezed him once and let go. "I'll help. There's plenty of blame to go around from this morning, and I owe her a bit of an apology. We'll make her listen together."

He kept hold of her hand as they walked, unhurriedly, through the rain. For the first time in months, he felt genuinely happy. Jill's warmth spread through him, strengthening him with her love, her courage. They would talk to Claire and she would listen; she would understand. They would talk to Claire and everything would be all right. He felt it.

Right up until the moment they got home to find her gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Ignition

There was a note stuck to the refrigerator door.

Chris stared at it in disbelief. He blinked a few times, and it persisted in being there. The words swam before his eyes, not making sense; all he knew was that Claire was gone and he hadn't been here to stop her -- again.

At last Jill pushed him gently aside and read the note out loud. "Dearest and overbearing brother, please don't have a fit. I've gone in search of Wesker because I have no choice. I won't wait for him to find me. Do not come looking for me. Do not try to rescue me. I will be just fine. And even if I'm not, I have to do this on my own. I love you, Claire."

Chris continued to blink. His hands worked at his sides, not quite clenching -- a gentler movement, like a man treading water. "What...?" he managed.

Jill quickly crumpled up the note and dropped it in the trash. She hadn't bothered to read the postscript, and didn't think Chris needed to know about it. "OK, calm down." She glanced at him. "Chris, remember what we talked about. We're going to handle this calmly and rationally, okay?"

Chris managed a nod. He searched his mind for the appropriate words, something lucid and succinct, something that would show Jill how much he'd changed, how much he was changing.

What came out was, "I'm going to kill her."

"Chris..."

"I'll kill her, and then I'll kill him. Or maybe the other way around. But they're both going to die."

"Chris!"

He shook himself. "Sorry. Old habits. We have to find her, Jill."

"I know. She can't have gone far. We'll take the car and drive the streets; she must be here somewhere."

The car was gone.

"I'll kill her," Chris repeated as he stared at the empty spot in his garage. He stepped forward, hands outstretched as though they might encounter the invisible bulk of a 2006 Ford Mustang.

Jill shook her head in disbelief. "OK, so she took the car."

"She took _my_ car."

"Remember, she might be in danger."

"You'd better believe she's in danger. She _took_ my _car_, Jill!"

"OK," Jill repeated, one hand pressed to her temple. She was beginning to regret she'd ever met either of the Redfield siblings. "That's actually a good thing, Chris. We still have police contacts. We'll put the word out, try to get an APB on your plates. Hopefully they'll find her before lunchtime."

Continuing to stare at the empty spot, Chris nodded slowly. He followed Jill back to the house simmering like an overfilled pot, his eyes dazed, his arms trembling. She couldn't tell if he was angry, worried, or just plain shocked, but she was grateful he hadn't erupted. God knew he'd been given the provocation.

She made a couple quick calls. It took a while, but she managed to track down a friend of a friend who not only had the authority to issue the APB but promised to let her know the second Claire was found. She placed another call to Barry, leaving a message on his mobile. She had a feeling they'd need him before long.

Turning, she said, "All right, I think I've..." Her voice trailed off as she realized Chris had rummaged through the garbage and emerged with Claire's note and its caustic little postscript: _Please forgive me, Chris. But at least I told you where I was going._

He raised hollow, wild eyes to hers and repeated, "I'll kill her."

-----

The mustang's unfamiliar rear wheel drive skidded on the wet road. Claire cursed as she brought it under control. It didn't matter. She didn't plan to drive it long, anyway; she'd only needed it to get out of town. Then she'd abandon it at some gas station and have someone call Chris to pick it up.

A chill raced through her. She was so stupid. What was she thinking, running off in search of a madman -- a madman who, just incidentally, happened to have superhuman speed and strength. And let's not forget that genius level IQ either. Except for the crazy and evil parts, Wesker was really damn near the perfect man.

I won't live in fear, she reminded herself, although her racing heart argued differently. Taking one hand from the wheel, she stroked the comforting weight of the .45 magnum tucked into her waistband. Around her arm, she'd placed a hunting knife in a spring loaded device, carefully hidden beneath her jacket. If Wesker dodged her first shot, she was probably dead, but she wasn't going to leave herself defenseless if a second chance presented itself.

And if worst came to worst, she could use the knife on herself.

"Some things are worse than death," she whispered out loud, and the familiar wash of furious humiliation threatened to overcome her. For just a moment she was huddled on the floor, her left wrist bleeding from her attempts to wrench free of the handcuff, her throat screaming for water, her voice whispering pleas. She smashed her fist into the steering wheel. It felt good, so she did it again.

Half of her wanted to blame Chris for drawing her to Wesker's attention in the first place, but that wasn't fair. God knew she had enough to blame Chris for without manufacturing new reasons. And that was another reason she had to go: Chris was on the verge of doing something incredibly stupid. She didn't know what, but she knew it would be not only stupid but dangerous, and dangerous not only to him but probably everyone around him.

She had to protect him, not only from Wesker but from himself.

She carefully steered the mustang into the parking lot of a greasy little truck stop three miles out of town, wincing when she heard it scrape concrete. Heart in her throat, she leaped out of the car and hunched in the pouring rain, inspecting the front bumper. Thank God, she hadn't done any damage. If Chris was mad now, she didn't want to tell him she'd scratched his precious car.

Scoping out the occupants of the diner, she changed her mind about asking someone to return Chris' car. Aside from a bored and tired looking waitress, the customers were uniformly male, overweight, and dirty. Five sets of eyes turned in her direction as she shoved open the door; four quickly returned to their dinners.

The waitress sighed and slapped a menu in front of her as she took a stool up front. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please." She scanned the menu while the waitress poured, then passed it back. "Just a cheeseburger. No gravy on the fries, and no pickles or onions on the burger."

The waitress rolled her eyes as though Claire had made a truly taxing request, then hollered into the kitchen, "Hey Pete, cheeseburger fries, no pickle gravy onion."

Only a grunt affirmed the order. Claire hoped Pete had understood. The gravy she could deal with and the onions she could pick off, but she was allergic to pickles.

Her hands shook as she wrapped them around the coffee mug and wondered where she'd go now. This plan had seemed daring and innovative when she'd been lying in bed at Chris' house. Now it seemed a bit crazy. No, scratch that, she thought as one of the other customers wandered in her direction, a _lot_ crazy.

The trucker hawked and spat into a handkerchief. "Thanks Rhona," he muttered, slipping the waitress a ten dollar bill. "Tell Pete I said hi."

"Will do, Jordan. Now you watch out on the road, hear?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart. See you next time I roll through town." He half turned to Claire, a mischievous glint in one eye. "Ma'am," he added, tipping his ball cap. Claire returned his smile in spite of herself as the waitress slapped a plate in front of her.

Amazingly, Pete had gotten everything right, and she tore into the burger hungrily. She hadn't eaten breakfast and it was nearly noon now, although the heavy clouds outside made it much darker. She was very conscious of the other eyes on her as she ate, very happy to have another woman standing behind the counter.

After a few minutes, the door jangled as another man stepped in, and Rhona ran to take his order. The second she'd gone, one of the other men settled himself next to Claire. She was instantly wary. This man didn't have the good-natured teasing expression the first man had worn; he stared at her almost hungrily. "Buy a lady dinner?"

She swallowed. "Thanks, but I've got it."

"Well, I wouldn't feel right about that." He reached for his wallet, but Claire stopped him, laying a hand on his wrist.

"Thanks," she repeated, "but no. I have to get going." Get going _how_? Get going _where?_ She didn't know and wished the voice in her head would shut up about it.

"That your pretty little car out front?"

"No."

"How'd you get here then?"

"I walked." She wolfed down the last few bites of her burger and reached for her bag.

Quick as a flash, the man's big hand closed over her wrist. Claire looked at it, then up at him. "You might want to move your hand."

"It's raining. If you walked, you need a ride."

She continued to stare him down, weighing her options. She had no intentions of going anywhere with this creep, but she really hoped she could end this confrontation without pulling a knife -- or worse, the .45 magnum -- and attracting everyone's attention. He couldn't really be planning to drag her out of the diner? Surely the others would object? No matter how hard-boiled the waitress seemed, she couldn't just sit there and watch a man drag another customer away.

He grinned, revealing a row of dirty teeth. "Come on, sweetheart. I'll make it worth your while, I promise."

Her nostrils flared. "Do I look like a hooker?"

"Never can tell."

"Get away from me before I call the police." She jerked her hand in an unsuccessful attempt to free herself. "My brother's a cop, did you know that?"

"And my sister's the queen of Spain."

She lowered her voice to a furious hiss. "Let go of me."

"Sister, you're coming for a ride whether you like it or not."

The other customers had carefully averted their eyes. Like it or not, she was going to have to draw the knife and do some damage to this creep before he got her into a bad situation. She had actually drawn her arm back, fingers touching the edge of the blade, when a sickeningly familiar voice from behind her drawled, "She may be going for a ride, but not with you."

The trucker hesitated. Claire took the opportunity to wrench her arm free and swivel on the stool.

Sure enough, Wesker stared down at her, his eyes impenetratable behind his dark glasses. Her head was level with his chest, and he seemed very tall, very large, and very imposing.

"This your woman?" the other man demanded.

Claire bristled. But her jaw dropped completely when Wesker replied, "Yes."

It was too much. "No," she snapped. She glared each of them down in turn. "I'm not anybody's _woman_."

The trucker snorted and ran a dirty finger across her cheek.

Claire had had enough. With one sweep of her arm, she knocked the coffee mug into his lap. With a screech of horror, he leapt to his feet, shouting incoherently and drawing everyone's attention. Claire took advantage of the moment to lunge for the door. She had her hand on the glass when Wesker seized her from behind, one arm encircling her tightly, pressing her to his side. "What a fuss," he murmured in her ear, and she shuddered. "Let's go, dear heart. I've been waiting for you."

No, she'd been waiting for _him_ -- hadn't she? She shook her head, instinctively struggling against his grip. Their hips bumped, and the magnum brushed against him. "What's this?" he asked, dragging her into the parking lot and disarming her in a single motion. He shook his head, making mock sounds of disapproval. "Do you have a permit for this, young lady?"

"Rot in hell," she returned through gritted teeth. From behind her, angry shouts erupted. She half turned, and Wesker's arm once more clamped around her.

"Time to go." He guided her smoothly through the shadows, ignoring her attempts to resist. She waited until they'd rounded the corner and launched herself forward, throwing her foot out behind her in a rapid kick.

Wesker caught her ankle.

For a moment they stared at one another, and then he smiled and twisted. Claire flew through the air, colliding with the diner wall. She struggled for consciousness, struggled to stay awake, but the darkness circled her and overwhelmed her.

The last thing she saw was Wesker striding towards her.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Deja Vu

She stirred slightly, wincing at the pain the movement sent down the side of her head. Slowly, she brought a hand to her temple. It came away sticky with blood. Jerking awake, Claire sat straight up and probed the wound, her momentary alarm fading as she realized the injury wasn't as severe as it felt. The blood had already clotted, and just the fact that she was conscious (yes, but after how long?) showed she was in no danger of slipping into a concussion.

That dealt with, she took in her surroundings. She was lying on a cot draped in an indifferent gray blanket. The room was small and cold. The moon gleamed through the bars of a single window high above, leaving stripes of light on the dark cement floor. In spite of the shadows, she could see the entire perimeter of the room: a small square cell consisting of the cot, a sink, a toilet, and a heavy metal door.

What happened? She remembered the diner and... and oh God, Wesker. He'd taken her gun. A chill rushed through her. She'd pictured a hundred ways that fight might end, some with her victorious, most with her not. But in every single scenario she'd at least managed to draw the damn gun. Wesker had taken it from her as though she was a naughty child. Her heart pounding, she flexed her right wrist, relaxing as she felt the comforting weight of the hunting knife. He hadn't searched her too thoroughly, then, and thank God for that. But she couldn't rely on luck. She slid the knife free of its sheath, unlaced the mechanism, and slid the whole thing under the mattress.

Now what?

Well, the door. Presumably it was locked, but she had to try all the same.

She staggered to her feet, leaning against the wall in an attempt to steady herself. A cold breeze drifted through the window; upon closer inspection, she realized the glass had been broken, although she didn't find any on the floor. Either it had been carefully cleaned up or the window had been broken from inside.

She returned to her quest, making her way slowly and carefully across the dark room. Her hand had just brushed the doorknob when the lock clicked and it swung open. Before she had time to react, she was staring at Wesker himself. "I thought you'd be awake by now," he remarked, leaning against the wall and folding his arms. "How do you feel?"

She retreated involuntarily, backing against the other wall. "I'm fine."

"There's a lesson to be learned, dear heart. I wouldn't have hurt you if you hadn't resisted."

"Yeah, right."

He shrugged. "Remember, I didn't raise a hand to you until you raised one to me."

"This time," she agreed bitterly, hating the ironic smile twisting his lips. She had to go on the offensive. He was just too intimidating, and if she didn't stand up to him now, she never would. "So what's the plan? Same as before? Because that worked out really well for you."

"No, I thought we'd try something a little different." He advanced, and Claire's throat clenched. Instinctively she wanted to retreat, but she'd already backed herself against the wall; she couldn't escape any further.

He stopped when they were almost toe to toe, staring down at her. Slowly and deliberately, he removed his glasses, and Claire's stomach heaved as those gleaming eyes pierced her own. "You have something that belongs to me, Miss Redfield."

"What?" she whispered, unable to tear her eyes from his.

"Do you really want to play games? I'm quite willing, I assure you. I have the time, you see. But you may want to consider your own rather precarious situation before you initiate any sort of challenge."

She shook her head, breaking the spell he'd seemed to cast over her. "I'm not playing games. I don't know what you're talking about."

He sighed, stepping away from her and shaking his head as though disappointed. "Sit down, please."

He was pointing towards the bed. She should have been relieved; her weapon would be in reach. But instead a dark terror spread through her, different from any she'd felt before, even during those sleepless nights right after her escape. Her knees went weak, and she had to clutch the wall for support.

Wesker turned like a wolf scenting fear in its prey. Something like amusement glimmered in his expression. "I have no intentions of raping you, dear heart, now or in the future. I simply want you to sit before you pass out."

An exhalation of relief escaped her, leaving her shamed and on the verge of tears. God, what was _wrong_ with her? This was what she'd wanted, wasn't it? To confront him? To force the issue?

But in her mind, things had played differently. In her mind, she'd killed or been killed.

Still, if she could take him at his word -- and, when she thought about it, he'd given her no indication she couldn't...

It took everything she had to walk to the bed, but she'd be damned if she'd accept his help. Her head spun by the time she'd seated herself on the cot, her hands clenched tightly in the rough woolen blanket. Wesker continued to lean against the wall, staring at her. "Last time I took you for your brother's sake. This time, I'm afraid, it's you I want. You took something from me, Miss Redfield. Something infinitely more important than revenge."

"What are you talking about? I..." Her voice trailed off as she realized exactly what he meant.

He saw it in her face. "Ah, at last it sinks in. Where is the blood sample you so cleverly picked from my pocket?"

Did she dare tell him the truth? If he'd really come after her only to retrieve the sample, her life would become meaningless once he realized she'd destroyed it. "I won't tell you," she snapped, drawing her head up high. "Not unless I get something in return."

"You get your life."

"You won't kill me," she replied positively. "Not without knowing where the sample is."

He smiled slightly, acknowledging the truth of her statement. "Perhaps not. But I can do many things to you without killing you." She didn't even blink. Suddenly he was standing in front of her, clutching her chin tightly in one gloved hand. She gasped at the pain in her jaw, instinctively wrenching against his hold. "You can't tell me where the sample is if I kill you," he continued in that same calm, impassive voice. As he spoke, a knife (_my God my God he found it, he found the knife_) appeared in his hand -- not, as she'd initially thought, her knife, but one very like it. He ran its sharp edge down her cheek, leaving the barest scratch in its wake. A warm trickle of blood caressed her skin. "But you can still speak without an eye, without fingers. You can still speak with broken bones. You can still speak without food and water." All at once he released her. Claire jerked back, head held high, very grateful she had neither pleaded nor wept during his performance.

Wesker backed away, inclining his head in a mockery of politeness. "Think about it, Miss Redfield. Think carefully."

And then he was gone, the door slamming behind him.

Claire fell back on the bed, shivering with cold and fear. After a moment she crawled beneath the heavy blanket, grateful for its warmth -- although she supposed she'd better not get too used to it. Wesker's threats had the desired effect, and she was numb with terror. She had no doubt he'd follow through. And what could she tell him? The truth would only enrage him further. Her only hope was that Chris would find her, that he would ignore her note -- which, she realized, she'd known he would all along -- and come after her.

But _how_ would he find her? "Oh, Chris, I'm sorry," she whispered out loud. "Leon, I'm sorry."

She'd been a fool, and she was paying the price. Well, she'd made her choice, and she'd face the consequences. She was no coward, after all. She'd been hurt before, and she could take pain. Eventually she'd probably have to tell him the truth, and then she supposed he would kill her.

_So the time at which to speak, Claire old girl, is when death becomes preferable to whatever he's doing to you._

Which lead her to his earlier statement. _I have no intentions of raping you_... She'd been numb with relief. At least she didn't have to fear that.

But _why_ didn't she? On the surface it seemed the perfect solution. It would devastate her and her brother with one blow, the worst possible torture he could inflict.

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, cautioned her inner voice, but Claire brushed it aside. She wanted to know why, and she had no intentions of asking Wesker to find out. She had no intentions of bringing it up ever again.

Three possibilities, she decided. One, something chemical had changed when Wesker infected himself, and he was incapable of raping her. That was the most likely explanation.

Two, part of him remained human and still had _some_ scruples, no matter how deep they were buried. That was the most attractive explanation.

And three, he simply found her repellent. Unlikely, she knew, but still the thought made her bristle.

She had to smile at herself. Here she was, trapped in a freezing prison cell by a man who planned to torture her for information that would lead him to kill her, and her biggest concern was whether or not he found her _attractive_?

But all the same, she very much wanted to know which possibility was right. Because if it was the second, it meant he still had something human left inside.

And while Wesker the mutant freak might be a cold, emotionless monster, Wesker the man could be manipulated.

Maybe.

She hoped.

If she was right.

And maybe she was. Even if he didn't plan to rape her, he hadn't had to reassure her on the point. He could have left her wondering, left her in mounting fear; instead, he had assuaged her doubts on that point.

"Oh, Chris," she groaned, rolling hear head on the pillow, trying to ease the stiffness in her neck. "Thank you _so_ much for getting me into this situation. Thank you so much for whatever you did to make this man hate you like he does. Thank you too for chasing after Jill and leaving me alone."

Not fair, she knew. She'd gotten herself into this situation, and she'd told Chris many times she didn't want to be babysat.

She sighed, swinging to a half seated position and groping for the knife. Well, if she wanted to be treated like an adult, she'd better start acting like one. And adults didn't lie around waiting for someone to rescue them.

They took action to save themselves.

She tested the blade with her thumb and smiled, not out of happiness, but in a mixture of fear, loneliness, and a strange sort of regret.

Now all she had to do was await his return -- just as she'd done for the past two months.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Reminisce

Chris Redfield was dreaming, and he knew it.

Or maybe he wasn't. Maybe he was remembering. Remembering while he slept which, he supposed, constituted dreaming.

In the dream he was perched on the edge of Jill's desk in the old STARS office, Barry on her other side. They had her trapped between them and were ribbing her mercilessly about a date she'd been on the night before, although Chris' teasing had a bit more venom than he remembered.

"I don't want to talk about it," Jill snapped, opening a folder.

Chris shut it and Barry slid it away. "Come on, Valentine. We want details."

She glared at them from beneath her beret. He'd forgotten how she used to love that stupid hat. "You weren't even supposed to _know_ about it."

"What can I say? News travels fast."

"When you're snooping through my daybook, yeah, it does." She glared at Chris, who returned a teasing grin. At last, with a sigh, she shoved her chair back from her desk, rolling all the way to Chris'. "Oh, all right. If you must know it was a total bomb. The guy had no class and I took a cab home. Okay?"

Barry snorted. "That's not details."

"How bad could it be?" Chris added.

Jill sighed again. "Remember that creepy pub downtown where that guy was selling alcohol to nine year olds?"

"Oh, yeah," they chorused.

"He took me there for drinks, and that was the highlight of the evening."

"You're kidding!" Chris cried, choking on his laughter. But before he could rib her further, the door swung open and Wesker was there.

He barely glanced at them, but they shot back to their desks anyway. Not that Wesker would say a word. He never did. He expected their work to be done well and on time, and as long as it was, he left them to their own devices -- trusted them. But the STARS respected their captain, and wanted to impress him.

Respect, thought Chris as he logged onto his computer. That was the key, wasn't it? He loved working for Wesker, loved working in STARS. He'd spent one year in the army before being honorably discharged -- but that "honorably" had been a close call. They'd grilled him about it when he'd entered the academy, too, and Chris hadn't seen any point in lying -- the trial was a matter of public record after all, and he knew they'd check up on him.

He didn't regret what he'd done, either, and hadn't been able to make himself sound sorry. Besides, the army knew as well as anyone that what his CO had done was wrong. It was just that it couldn't sanction punching your superior officer in the face and grinding his nose in the pavement.

"He had a thing about picking on anyone smaller than him," Chris had explained time and again, first to his lawyer, then at the trial, then to the academy interviewers. "I made the grade, just barely, but there were three guys and two women in our squad who he just singled out over and over again. It was the stupidest thing I'd ever seen. One of the women was the most brilliant computer programmer I'd ever seen -- child prodigy or something -- and two of those guys could put a bullet in a target from fifty paces wearing a blindfold. But he didn't care. They were kind of small, you know? And that's all he saw."

He left out the details, sketching in only the roughest outline of what had really happened. Day after day, week after week, his CO had all but tortured those five people. Chris had felt the knot in his throat growing tighter every day. No one liked it, especially the other members of his squad, but what could they do? He was their CO, after all, and if they said anything they'd probably find themselves in his bad books too. So they kept quiet, and no one did anything while this creep grew more and more arrogant every day.

Until finally Chris had enough. "He'd never actually struck one of them before," he explained, noticing that he had all three interviewers' rapt attention. "But he was in a particularly bad mood this day. Everyone was walking on eggshells waiting for him to explode. He'd been screaming at us all morning, and all of a sudden, for no reason whatsoever, he grabbed this one kid -- Thompson, his name was -- and threw him into a wall. Started kicking him and screaming at him. Well, what was I supposed to do?"

Hence the honorable part of the discharge -- everyone _knew_ you couldn't just run around beating up the people serving under you. At the same time, the army couldn't sanction beating up your CO -- hence the discharge part of the discharge.

The interviewers hadn't been thrilled with that part either. "What if you don't like your captain in the force?" one of them demanded. "Is this how you're going to respond?"

"No sir," Chris answered smartly. "I learned my lesson."

And more to the point, he'd learned why he had to get out of the army, discharge or no. He told them, too: "I joined up because I wanted to serve my country, protect its people. But I realized I'd picked the wrong place. The army's a great thing, and it serves a great purpose. But the army doesn't deal with the people. It protects indirectly through attack. Me, my main instinct has always been to protect, not to hurt. That's why I'm here. That's the reason I want to be a cop -- to protect and serve."

Later, Claire had agreed it was his master piece of bullshit. But it had also been true. And he'd made it into the academy by the skin of his teeth, graduated at the top of his class, and whipped through the force until he found his way in STARS. Here he'd stopped -- not because they'd stopped offering advancements, but because he'd finally found a place he belonged, colleagues he respected and cared for, a captain worth serving.

Even in the dream he knew what a crock that turned out to be.

But the memory/dream continued regardless, Wesker taking his seat, everyone else on their computers. Chris opened a file and began typing out a report with his index fingers, scowling a bit. He hated paperwork; all cops did. It was part of the job, though.

He was just rifling through a file searching for the transcript of an interview when a shadow fell over him. "Looking for this?" Wesker asked in his cool, commanding tone.

Chris took the transcript from his hands. "Yeah. Thanks. Where'd you find it?"

"I saved it from the janitors last night. It was on the floor under your desk."

Chris flashed his boss a rueful smile. "Thanks."

He expected Wesker to walk away, but instead he hesitated, his eyes on the framed picture beside Chris' computer. "Is that your sister?"

"Yeah, that's Claire." Chris snagged the shot and grinned affectionately, passing it to the captain.

Wesker took it and raised his eyebrows. "She's much younger than you."

"I know. She's a good kid, though."

He returned the photo and walked away without any further comment. Jill half spun in her desk and rolled her eyes, teasingly and without menace. "Leaving files all over the floor again, Redfield?"

"Cool it, Valentine, or I'll spill the beans about your hot date in the cafeteria."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?"

She didn't answer because she knew he was capable of it. They both knew too, though, that he wouldn't do it, if only because Jill's revenge would be swift and brutal. "Buy me lunch and I'll forget about the whole thing," he offered.

"Buy _you_ lunch?" she hissed, one eye on Wesker as he bent over his work. "That's rich. You're the one who was rifling through my desk. I think you owe me."

"Deal," he replied immediately, earning a grin. "I'll drive, you pick the place."

They both swiveled to their computers as Wesker glanced up, but Chris felt a surge of elation. Stupid Jill and her stupid dates -- he'd show her how she should be treated.

Uh oh, he realized in a single breath.

Not good.

Jill was his friend, his co-worker.

Yes, but he wanted something more. And he'd known it for a long time. He closed his eyes for a moment, then shrugged. Well, he and Jill were both adults; they would take things one step at a time and if it didn't work out, they'd find a way to work together. They had to. He wasn't going to let someone that amazing pass him by because she happened to work at the next desk.

From that moment, although she didn't know it, Jill's days as a single woman were numbered.

A week later, they received a distress call from the bravo team and entered the mansion.

-----

Chris rolled over, wincing at the kink in his neck from sleeping on the couch. Jill was curled against him, pressed tightly to keep from falling to the floor. Her head nestled against his shoulder, and his arm had gone to sleep where she'd been leaning. Gently, he worked it free, lowering her head to his chest as he sat halfway up. She stirred and mumbled something, then rested again.

He stroked her hair and stared into the dark living room. He'd dreamed of Wesker -- of Wesker and Jill and STARS, still the best time of his life, right up to the moment Wesker betrayed them. He thought how different things would have been if not for that betrayal. They'd have taken on Umbrella as a team, as they always had, Wesker cool and competent and in control, relieving Chris of this burden of guilt and hatred.

Claire, he thought, closing his eyes against a sudden sting of tears. Where was she? Why hadn't Wesker contacted him?

Oh God, Claire, I hope you're all right.

Please be all right.

He lay back on the couch and stared at the ceiling, all hopes of sleep passed.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Meltdown

It took Claire a long time to hook the knife behind the window bars. She didn't know how long, and she lost count of throws after seventeen. She could throw the knife through the window all right, no problem with that. It was getting it to twist and lock behind the bars that was the problem. And when she finally did accomplish it, she'd tied the sheet too loosely, and it almost fell away, sending her knife plummeting outside. Her heart pounded as she reeled her makeshift rope in that time. Maybe it wasn't worth it.

But she wanted to know where she was, just in case she managed to escape -- send a message -- anything. And it wasn't like she had anything else to do. Day had come and gone with no sign of Wesker -- or of food. Her stomach rumbled, but she wasn't horribly hungry. It certainly didn't compare to the burning need for water she'd experienced at his hands before. She'd been guzzling water at an alarming rate, as if to store it like a camel. She'd contemplated hording some away -- in case Wesker tried his luck withholding it again -- but couldn't think of any way to store it.

The knife clanged against the steel bars. Claire glanced behind her instinctively, but the door remained closed. She tugged on the sheet, testing its strength and the strength of the knot. Both seemed to hold.

_Nothing ventured, nothing gained._ She kicked off her shoes and socks, bracing her bare feet against the cold cement wall. Using the bed sheet for leverage, she jumped as high as she could and swung her feet in, beginning the slow, painful vertical walk.

She stumbled a few times, but was pleased to find she was in no danger of falling. She'd worried about getting out of shape since the island incident, but apparently her muscles remembered how to move. They ached a bit, but she had little trouble climbing to the top.

Gasping for breath, she snaked an arm through the window and wrapped it around a bar, carefully avoiding the jagged glass lining what remained of the window. She caught on with her other arm and worked the knife free, tossing it back to the floor -- she could jump from here, and losing her knife was a worst case scenario.

Finally she could see outside.

"Oh, great," she muttered, staring across the expanse of flat, grassy land. This could be anywhere in the US, not to mention several other countries. A grassy plain. He couldn't have picked a more nondescript location if he'd tried.

Still, she wiggled around to get a better angle to her left and right, unwilling to accept defeat. She'd worked hard to get up here, damn it; there'd better be something more to show for it than a field of grass.

And then to her left, a glimmer of moonlight struck something. Grimacing, Claire braced herself against the wall and swung as far as she could, roping her arms around the far right bars. She tilted her head against what was left of the window and peered out, careful to keep her face away from the sharp edges where the glass broke.

A sign. She could only make out part of it:

UMBR

LABOR

NO EN

And then a few letters that either connected to words she didn't understand or -- more likely -- were in a different language.

NOT the States, then. She could guess what the first three lines read well enough: Umbrella, laboratory, no entry. Another freaking Umbrella base. How many did they have? And how many had Wesker taken over?

Her arms and shoulders burned, but she dangled there a moment longer, grateful for any change of scenery, grateful for the fresh air. Before long, though, her teeth chattered with cold, and her muscles began to cramp in protest. She eased herself down and dropped to the floor.

The second her feet collided, the lock clicked and the doorknob turned.

Claire panicked. She grabbed the knife, yanked it free of the sheet, and jammed it down her waistband behind her back. She didn't care if Wesker found out what she'd been up to -- but if he found the knife? It was her last means of defense.

And now it was totally exposed if he happened to stand behind her.

He filled the doorway, thin beams of moonlight slanting across his face, dark glasses in place. "What _are_ you doing, Miss Redfield?"

She sniffed. "Trying to escape."

"With a bed sheet through a barred window? I'm disappointed. I thought you had more sense."

Claire shrugged. She didn't care what he thought.

He drew a step closer, and her heart pounded in her ears. Terror settled over her in waves. Had she ever been this frightened? She remembered running through the police station pursued by creatures that wouldn't bloody die...

No, this was much worse.

He stopped just out of reach, arms folded, head tipped to one side. "Have you had time to consider my offer?"

"What offer?" She heard the tremble in her voice and knew he heard too. It made her mad, gave her the strength to steady herself. "The one where I tell you what you want to know and you kill me?"

"I never said I would kill you, dear heart."

"Will you?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On you."

Claire folded her arms in turn, refusing to be drawn into a game of twenty questions. Wesker smiled slightly and took another step towards her.

Within striking range.

If she moved fast.

If he didn't realize what she was up to.

"Dear heart," he murmured softly, running a gloved finger along her cheek, seeming pleased with her shudder. "The situation has changed somewhat."

Changed? Her heart pounded even louder. She hadn't thought such a thing possible. Did he know what she'd done to Steve's blood? "What do you mean, changed?" she forced out. Her words were barely a croak.

_I hate you, Claire Redfield_, she snarled at herself. _Grow up. Stop acting like a damsel in distress. Whatever he does to you, you'll deal with it; but don't let him scare you!_

Oh, but it was so easy to be afraid of him -- of the inhuman red eyes hidden behind dark glasses, themselves unnatural in the dark room, of his superhuman strength and speed, of his sadistic cruelty and ruthless determination. He smiled as though sensing her thoughts. "Come with me."

"What? Where?"

"Explanations are best deferred until we reach our destination. Then they may prove... unnecessary."

She waged a brief war with herself, finally deciding it was better to follow him voluntarily than be carried, dragged, or thrown. Besides, there was still the knife to consider... "Lead on."

"I think not." He took her arm in his hand and all the blood rushed from her face, leaving her pale and frightened. My God, he was going to make her lead -- he'd see the knife -- unless she pulled it now -- but could she...? -- or would he...?

And then he was leaving the room, pulling her along by dint of his grip above her left elbow. Stunned, Claire stumbled in his wake, adjusting to the two most important things: one, he hadn't seen the knife, and two, he'd left her right hand free.

She'd only have one shot. She'd have to make it count.

But she almost forgot about that as she took in the dark emptiness of the huge space. "How big is this lab?" she wondered out loud as their footsteps reverberated along the corridors.

"Far bigger than the last."

She glanced at him. He wasn't looking at her, but once again his answer seemed uncalculated -- a simple response to a simple question. She risked another. "How many people are here?"

"Aside from you and me? One."

One. "Who?"

He shook his head, smiling slightly. "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

Probably Ada bloody Wong, she realized with a scowl. A name that had come up many times over the past few months as her relationship with Leon stumbled along.

Leon. God, she missed him. Everything would seem better if only he was here, supporting her, letting her know she wasn't alone.

She scratched that thought immediately. The last thing she wanted was Leon here. Or Chris, or any of the others. So far her stupidity had only endangered herself; she planned to keep it that way.

Wesker jerked her around another corner. Claire slid her right hand behind her back, fingering the knife hilt. She eased it free and reversed the blade so it lay flat along her arm.

Where to strike?

Heart? Might work as long as she scored a direct hit. Was that body armour he was wearing?

Too many risks.

Throat? More possibilities. According to Chris, a ton of steel girders had dropped on the man's head and he'd gotten back to his feet. Would the blade even pierce the skin? Had he been bleeding after surviving the girders? She couldn't remember, if Chris had ever told her.

Eye?

She glanced at him sideways. She could see the gleam of his eyes behind his sunglasses, had a good angle towards his right eye. She could hit it, she was sure of that.

It wouldn't kill him.

But it would hurt like hell, and it would definitely incapacitate him, at least temporarily. Even if he was able to regrow the eye or something, he couldn't do it instantaneously, could he? And in the meantime he would be hurt, bleeding -- vision faulty, body slowed.

She could escape.

Drawing a breath, she took in her surroundings. It was no use -- she had no idea where to find the exit. She'd just have to run, put as much distance as possible between them, and then stick to the shadows as she searched the building. She'd been through enough Umbrella labs by now to have a pretty good idea of the basic layout.

He still wasn't looking at her. She steeled herself, adjusting her grip on the knife, clutching the hilt with the blade pointing out to her right.

Oh God, she couldn't do it. He might be a monster but he was still _human_; she couldn't just stab a knife into his eye!

You'd better, she told herself firmly. Because he won't have any problem doing the same -- or worse -- to you.

She forced herself to stare straight ahead and count to twenty. Then she glanced sideways, marking her target, drew a deep breath, and drove her fist at his face.

He saw her coming, but just barely. The knife missed his eye as he threw his head back, catching below his eyebrow and slicing across his forehead. Even as his roar of pain echoed through the hall, Claire was off and running. She'd _missed_, damn it -- should have struck again -- but instinct said run, and she listened. Who knew how fast he'd recover? The wound was deep but he wasn't human, he might...

She didn't hear or see him coming. She ran into his chest full tilt, bouncing off him, restrained by the hand clasping her throat. His other hand caught her wrist and shook, sending the knife scattering across the floor, then flew in a graceful backhand that sent her flying into the wall. Dazed, she struggled to her feet, but he dealt her a hard kick in the ribs that toppled her again. "Congratulations," he seethed, blood dripping past his eyes. She tilted her head, trying to see evidence that she had hurt him, but aside from the blood there was none -- the wound had closed already. "Not many could catch me off guard."

"What are you...?" She didn't finish the question because he kicked her again, this time in the face. Her jaw snapped shut on her tongue, and she tasted blood as she collapsed on the floor, dizzy and nauseous. She barely managed to roll over and spit on the concrete. If she hadn't, if she'd swallowed it, she would have been spitting up more than blood.

He didn't give her a chance to recover, catching the back of her neck and hauling her to her feet. He threw her face first into the wall and held her there. Claire couldn't stifle a cry of pain as he mashed the side of her head against the cold, hard wall. She trembled, longing for unconsciousness -- _please, let me be asleep when he kills me, it's all I ask_ -- but in spite of the pain, the nausea, the dizziness, it would not come.

He jerked her back and cracked her forehead into the wall again. Once more she shouted, his hand on her neck holding her helpless against his fury. Part of her longed to plead, to apologize, but she squelched it resolutely. It was the thing she'd promised herself -- no groveling. And if he killed her now, he'd spare her a great deal of pain.

But apparently he didn't plan to kill her. He held her there a moment longer, his breath hot and heavy against her neck. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see what would come next.

All at once she was lifted off her feet and slammed into the wall again, this time facing him. Her eyes flew open. He was holding her by her upper arms, incredible pain radiating from the spots where his fingers bit into her flesh, supporting her several feet off the floor against the wall. His furious eyes stared up at her, blood drying above his right eyebrow. "You are as big a fool as your brother, Miss Redfield. And you will share his fate."

She kicked at him, knowing it was useless but welcoming the gesture of rebellion. He slammed her again, making her teeth rattle.

And then, to her amazement, he let her go.

Before she had a chance to react, his hands whisked over her body, probing for other weapons. He jerked her jacket free of her arms and tossed it aside, leaving her shivering in a form fitting tank top. For a moment she was afraid he would take that too, but he didn't, his hands sliding over her legs, her back, through her hair. "Hmm," he said at last. "No other surprises?"

"You took my other surprise in the parking lot," she told him bitterly.

He shoved her. "Move."

She obeyed, shuffling forward, stopping when he directed. She didn't care anymore. Her last chance had fled, and she was as good as dead now. What difference did anything make?

He moved in front of her, his hand resting on a door. "You are beginning to irritate me, Miss Redfield, and that is not a good idea. Perhaps we can curb your spirit some."

She glared at him, spitting another mouthful of blood through swollen lips. "Do what you want, Wesker. I don't give a damn anymore. I don't care if you hurt me; I don't care _what_ you do to my body. But after the last few months, there's nothing left you _can_ do except hurt me. I'm done being manipulated by you."

"Are you?" he chuckled lightly, good humour apparently restored. "We'll see, won't we?"

And then he opened the door.

And Claire realized she'd been wrong. There was more he could do to her, much, much more, beyond physical violence, beyond sadistic torture. "Oh God no," she whispered.

"Yes," Wesker replied in a smooth, confident tone. "You _will_ tell me what I want to know, dear heart."

And Claire knew he spoke the truth.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's note: Just so you're prepared, the rate of updates will likely slow down over the next few weeks as I head back to work. I don't mean SLOW -- just not as fast as they've been. Probably one or two a week. This latest installation took a while not because of work but because my home contains a rabbit who likes to chew through my phone cord when she thinks I'm not watching. Cheers :)_

Chapter Nine

Intersections

Ada Wong.

Leon crouched on the balcony, watching her make her rounds. Wash her face, brush her teeth, clean up the dishes, hide a gun under the lettuce in the crisper. The usual sort of thing.

Ada Wong.

He sighed, fingers toying with the knife at his belt. He didn't want to do this.

Ever since Claire's ordeal, he'd been searching for Wesker. Leon's life had narrowed to just two objectives: find Wesker and kill him. That was it. Until he did, Claire remained in danger.

She was in danger _now_, he reminded himself, but quickly shoved the thought away. Chris was with her; she was safe -- or at least, Chris would provide as much protection as Leon could. He supposed no one was really _safe_ where Wesker was concerned.

Including Ada Wong.

He'd hesitated when Barry contacted him. They were searching for Wesker; they'd found Ada. She was the link. She could lead them to their goal... _if _she could be persuaded.

Leon didn't want to persuade her.

It was the police station all over again, with Claire and Ada running around in the dark, Leon helpless to protect them. In the end he'd chosen to stay with Ada, trusting Claire to find her own way out. And she had, he reminded himself -- Claire was no weakling. In fact, she wouldn't thank him at all if she knew of his current position, which was why he hadn't told her. Fortunately his job provided ample excuses for his absences.

Leon and Barry had agreed to tackle this one alone. They hadn't wanted Claire with them, and besides, the word "Ada" was enough to throw her into fits right now. Chris was out of the question -- where Claire was concerned, his reason flew right out the window. They'd contemplated Jill, but decided her ties to Chris were too strong. Better just the two of them.

Barry's voice crackled in Leon's ear. "You there or what, Kennedy?"

"I'm here. I'm just not filling the channel with useless chatter."

"So it's Stoic Boy, champion of all that's sullen and right, is that it?"

"Shut up, Barry."

"You in position?"

Leon hesitated. "Yeah. I can see her."

"She see you?"

"No."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes." But was he? It would be just like Ada to put one over on him, let him make the first move. Abruptly, Leon reached a decision. "Barry, I'm going to talk to her."

"You mean talk, or _talk_?"

"Just talk. Maybe she'll help us without the strongarm tactics."

"Leon, my man, that's a bad idea. Remember the last time you tried to talk to Ada?"

Oh, he remembered. He imagined the owner of the warehouse downtown remembered too -- or rather, the _former_ warehouse. Only a pile of ashes remained. "I don't think she'll blow up her own place."

"It's a _temporary_ residence, Leon. Come on. Stick to the plan."

Leon hesitated a moment longer, then shook his head. "Sorry, Barry. If you don't hear from me in twenty minutes, you'd better make your move." Before the other man could reply, he tore the comm device from his lapel and hucked it over the side of the building. He was sure he could hear Barry shouting, his voice fading as the device drifted away.

Then he rapped on the door.

Ada glanced at the window, frowned, and shut off the lights. Her eyes widened -- so she _hadn't_ been aware of him after all. She sauntered across the room and flipped a switch, unlocking the door so he could climb into the room. "Well, hello there," she said, evincing no surprise at finding him on her sixteenth story balcony in the middle of the night.

"Hi," he returned awkwardly. "Ada, I need to talk to you."

She nodded towards his holster, folding her arms across her chest. "You're rather heavily armed for talking."

"Yeah, well, you're not my only stop tonight."

"I can guess where you're headed."

"Really? That's great, because I have no idea."

Ada smiled and moved further into the apartment, waving him idly towards the couch. "Drink?"

"No. Thank you."

She poured herself a glass of whiskey, not bothering to dilute it. "I take it this isn't a social call."

"No, I tend to use the front door for those."

"Pity. I think I like this entrance better. More exciting."

Leon rose from the sofa and crossed to her, not making any sudden movements for fear of provoking an attack. "Ada," he said, "where's Wesker?"

"I imagine this has to do with Claire Redfield?"

He contemplated lying. "Yeah. It has everything to do with her."

Ada didn't seem upset, just thoughtful. "What?" she asked, intercepting his expression with an amused grin. "You thought I'd be pining away for you? You're a very attractive man, Leon Kennedy. But _I'm_ a very attractive woman, and I've never been at a loss for male company."

Just another reason he'd never seriously considered Ada as more than a... a what? A challenge, he supposed -- a dark, sleek, mysterious, beautiful challenge.

Claire wasn't a challenge, at least not the way Ada was. She was as light as Ada was dark, as muscular as Ada was sleek. There was no mystery to Claire -- she said what she thought without caring who she offended. But she never set out to offend; on the contrary, she was one of the most kind-hearted people Leon had ever met. And right there he knew why he loved her in a way he could never love Ada. Her heart. Ada had none.

Or maybe she did. There was compassion in her gaze now. "Leon, I would like to help you, I really would."

"Then do. Tell me where he is."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Do you have any idea what Wesker would _do_ to me if I betrayed him?"

"He won't have a chance."

"Right. I'd forgotten, you're riding in to play the conquering knight and save your damsel in distress. It's too late, Leon. He has her, and he never gives up what he takes."

Only three words penetrated the haze around Leon's head. "Wait a minute. What do you mean, _he has her_?"

"Isn't that why...?" She stared at him. "Oh God, Leon, I thought you knew..."

"Knew what? What the hell is going on here, Ada?"

"He's taken her again," she whispered softly. "Because of the sample she stole. He wants it back."

"It's gone," he replied without thinking. "We burned it."

Ada slowly set her glass on the counter. "Then God help her."

"Ada, please. I need your help. Where can I find them?"

She hesitated, then stepped forward, her hands sliding smoothly across his face. Leon remained perfectly still as she drew closer. It took all his effort not to jump when her lips touched his, and all his willpower not to respond to her kiss.

At last she stepped away, smiling slightly. "If I don't tell you, are you planning to drag me into the night and work the information out of me?"

"No," he decided suddenly. "I won't let that happen either way."

Again that small, disingenuous smile. "Always the noble knight. It's going to get you killed one day, you know." She stared at him for a long minute during which his heart raced fast enough to seriously worry him. "All right. I'll tell you. But hear this, Leon Kennedy. If by some miracle you manage to kill him, you'll have stolen my job away. You'll have to make up for that."

"I will."

"And," she continued sharply, "if, as is more likely, he captures you, he'll want to know how you found him. If my name comes up in that conversation, you won't have to worry about what Wesker does to you, because I will find you and cut you into tiny pieces very, very slowly."

Leon managed a smile. "Good recon," he explained weakly. "Barry Burton... has a lot of connections. After all, that's how I found you."

"Yes. Yes, Wesker might believe that. He knows Barry. Just don't let it slip too easily or he'll get suspicious." She touched his cheek. "If he catches you, Leon, I won't be able to help. You understand that, don't you? If I have to, I'll stand and watch as he tortures you to death. It's just not worth crossing him."

He nodded. "Ada... thank you."

"I hope you find her, Leon. She's barely more than a child. She shouldn't be caught up in this."

For just a second, Ada had channeled Chris. Leon shook his head, smiling, thinking how little like a child Claire was. "Thank you," he repeated. "I have to go. If I don't reappear shortly, Barry's going to come banging your door down."

"Ah, the ever present watchdog. Going over the balcony again?"

"No, I thought this time I'd use the door."

They smiled at each other, Ada standing in the doorway, Leon in the hall. "Use it next time too," she said softly as he blinked, eyes adjusting to the sudden light. "Next time make it a social call, Leon."

"I will," he promised.

They both knew he was lying.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

_Crossroads_

Claire's knees went fluid beneath her. She sagged into Wesker's arms. He half-carried, half-led her to a nearby chair and desposited her.

Both of their gazes were fixed on the row of oversized tubes lining one wall. Claire had destroyed enough Umbrella facilities in her time to know that usually, these held monstrous and twisted creations waiting to be unleashed on the outside world. In this lab, however, the first nine stood empty, not even containing the sickly clear gel Umbrella used to suspend their experiments until granting them life.

The tenth one was full of the gel.

It was also full of Leon.

He drifted in the tank, eyes closed, head tipped forward. His pants were plastered to his legs, the hems drifting slightly in the sticky liquid. Rows of scrapes and cuts lined his bare chest, and the right side of his face revealed a long gash mark. No blood -- that had drifted away in the gel and hung in a slowly expanding line beside him.

"Is he dead?" she whispered once she found her voice. Her fingers shook on the table. Don't faint, she told herself firmly.

"Would I bother to store him if he was?" Wesker crossed to the tube and ran one finger almost lovingly across it. "Fascinating inventions, these -- all sorts of potential benefits in the right hands. Suspended animation, store people until a cure was discovered for cancer, for AIDS..."

Claire pictured a room packed with long tubes, each enclosing a sickly human, eyes closed, awaiting the far off day -- if it ever arrived --- when they could be cured and awoken. She shuddered. "I think I'd prefer death."

"Shall we find out?" But he didn't make a move toward her, and she got the feeling he made the threat only because it was expected. Right now, Leon held all of his attention.

She swallowed hard. "What happened?"

At last Wesker turned to her. "Hmm?" he asked, perching on the edge of the table. Claire scooted her chair back as far as she could. "Oh, Mr. Kennedy here. Foolish boy. He was trying to rescue you, you know. Figured he could just walk in here with a shotgun and that would be it." He chuckled, fingers playing absently on his knife hilt.

"He knew where I was?" Hope surged. That meant Chris knew, and she had no doubt he would...

Wesker's smile crushed her half-formed idea. "A solo mission I'm afraid, dear heart. Pity -- I would have loved to see your brother again."

"Don't worry. You will."

"I think not. Mr. Kennedy found me through a leak in my little family -- a leak I've already plugged."

"Ada Wong?"

"Ah, so you've met."

Claire closed her eyes briefly. She wasn't fond of Ada, but that didn't mean she wanted her dead. Besides, Ada _had_ saved her life back in Raccoon City. There was no denying that. "You killed her."

"Of course not. Such a valuable, beautiful woman. No, I merely offered her the opportunity to prove her loyalty. She won't betray me again."

Claire didn't even want to know. "So what now? I do what you say or you'll kill Leon?"

"Kill him? Oh, eventually," Wesker agreed, returning his gaze to the suspended body. His eyes took on a hungry, predatory gleam. "You have no idea the uses a pure scientist can make of a living human speciman. Why, this one man could advance the field of genetic research five years all on his own. It's really almost noble when you think about it."

She closed her eyes against a throbbing headache, biting back tears. "You're a monster, you know that? An absolute demon. Even those creatures Umbrella cooks up are more human than you. At least they're only following their instincts. You -- you have a choice."

"Yes, I do." He caught her chin in a gloved hand and forced her head back so their eyes met. "And I chose power, Miss Redfield. You, on the other hand, chose sentiment, boredom, and playing the hero. Look where it's gotten you. If that's meant to be an argument against my plan, it's rather ineffective." He released her with a shove. "I'm tired of this game. You're beginning to try my patience, and that's a dangerous hobby. Where is the sample you stole from me?"

Her mind raced, searching for any lie he might swallow, something to get him out of the base, give her a chance to rescue Leon and escape. Something along the lines of "I locked it in an unbreakable box and sealed it in the seventh circle of hell." But he would only lock her up again, and God knew what he'd do to her, to Leon, when he returned.

She was going to die, she realized with a constriction of her chest. But if she didn't speak, she would die anyway. And Leon would die first. At least this way she had a chance to save his life. "I destroyed it," she whispered.

For a moment she thought he hadn't heard her. He didn't move, didn't even seem to breathe. "You what?"

"I destroyed it. I threw it in a fire and watched it burn."

Silence stretched between them for another long, agonizing minute. Then his hand cracked across her face, sending her flying out of the chair. "You ignorant child," he snarled, towering above her. Claire crawled to the wall and huddled there, lacking even the spirit to fight back. She only hoped that if she didn't resist him, he would kill her quickly. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

She met his gaze. "I stopped you from doing anything else to Steve, that's what."

"Oh, you did that indeed. But you also destroyed the last remaining sample of Alexia's virus!"

"So what?" she cried, reacting in spite of herself. He glared down at her, hands clenched into fists, but so far he hadn't hit her again. "Isn't the T-virus awful enough? Why do you need a more powerful strain?"

"It wasn't for Umbrella, you stupid girl. It was for me!" He spun, driving his fist against -- no, _through_ -- the wall. "You saw the power she had, power she acquired without losing her mind, her free will! Alexia was brilliant but impatient. A few more years and I'd have perfected the virus, eliminating the need for the incubation period." He spun on her, chest heaving. "And now, thanks to you, I have to start again from the beginning. Trying to _recreate_ the virus from memory -- a virus I never fully studied!"

Claire gaped. Was she meant to apologize? Feel sorry for him? "This is all about getting a little more power? Haven't you gone far enough?"

He laughed coldly. "I can be destroyed, dear heart. A nuclear missile would do it. So would a number of far less powerful explosives. No, you can never have too much power." His eyes narrowed behind his glasses, his face going cold and thoughtful. "But perhaps there is a way you can make it up to me after all."

Warning bells sounded in her head. "What do you mean?"

In the blink of an eye he closed the distance between them, lifting her to her feet and trapping her between him and the wall. His body pressed tightly against hers, her wrists imprisoned in his hands, he offered her a perfect, chilling smile. "You've destroyed my test subject, Miss Redfield. It's only fitting you take his place."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

_Irony_

Ada Wong sat in the dormitory window, leaning her head against the cool dark glass. The dorm had been built to house around fifty scientists; now it held only her. She wouldn't have minded -- would have welcomed the privacy -- but the rows of empty bunk beds were giving her the creeps.

Besides, a bit of company would distract her from what she'd done.

But the only company to be had was Wesker's, and he wouldn't appreciate interruptions. Unless, of course, she decided to have a little chat with Claire or Leon. She didn't think either of them would be thrilled to see her either.

She smiled at herself in the glass. Apparently _no one_ wanted to see her. She didn't even really want to see herself.

She ran a long, pointed nail over her reflection. Beautiful enough. She knew that. Used that. She wondered if that was why Wesker let her live. He'd killed others who failed him, but twice now he'd spared her life -- once when he'd saved her in Raccoon City, and again now that she'd betrayed him.

Betrayed him to Leon.

But then betrayed Leon to him.

She closed her eyes against her reflection. Yes, beautiful enough, but treachery, fear, loathing lurked in those dark, exotic eyes. Perhaps it would have been better if Wesker had killed her. Or perhaps she should take matters into her own hands.

But she knew she wouldn't do it. That was the worst part of all: knowing that eventually she'd get over this, leave Leon in the past, let her weakness be forgotten.

Without wanting to, she remembered the night's events: Wesker's arrival on Leon's heels, his cold, controlled demeanor far more frightening than any display of anger. He'd backed her into a corner and she'd been sure he meant to kill her -- been plotting and rejecting modes of escape -- but he'd only stared at her for a long, long time, long enough for even Ada's will to crack.

And then he'd given her the choice.

Well, it wasn't as though Leon could have rescued Claire anyway. Wesker knew about him; Wesker would stop him. What difference did it make if Ada had a hand in it? She was saving her own life, and not at the expense of Leon's. It was too late for him, whatever she did. She could only die before him, or prove herself to Wesker by helping his death along. Why, if he'd known, he probably would have preferred to save her life, even at the expense of his own.

But still, the look on his face when she'd jogged up behind him in the lab, explained that she couldn't let him go it alone... and the very different look on his face when she kicked him over the railing and he'd lay staring up at her while Wesker approached.

Over a railing. It had a strange sort of irony to it. She wondered if it was intentional. Probably not. Wesker was many things, but subtle wasn't one of them.

She didn't know what Wesker would do to Leon now, and she didn't want to. He'd spared her that, at least, refusing to let her leave the facility but allowing her to retreat to a dormitory rather than witness what she was sure would be a slow and painful death. She lowered her face to her hands, trembling.

She was a traitor both ways. Well, what else was new? She'd done what she had to in order to survive. Who could blame her for that?

Leon, for one. Wesker for another.

She bore a strange sort of guilt for betraying Wesker, too. Oh, he was pure evil, she knew that. But the fact remained that, whatever his reason, he'd always treated Ada with respect. He'd dealt with her as fairly and honestly as the context of their relationship allowed, and she'd repaid him by stabbing him in the back. Maybe that was why she'd allowed him to convince her to capture Leon, as much as anything. The fact was, she owed Wesker.

She owed Leon, too.

And as Wesker had told her in his sharp, chilling voice, it was Ada who had killed him in the end. If she'd refused to reveal Wesker's location, Leon would have gone home, angry and hurt but living and breathing. Never in a million years would he have found the base. But Ada had betrayed Wesker, and in so doing she'd signed Leon Kennedy's death warrant.

Ironic.

It sucked. She hated to think in such coarse terms, but there was really no other way to describe it. The situation sucked. Little Miss Ada Wong, independent since the age of twelve, a force to be reckoned with not long after... She'd never taken help from anyone, ever, never allowed herself to make connections.

Yet here she was, owing two men her life time and time again. Two men who just so happened to be mortal enemies. And here she was, effectively grounded by her employer.

It sucked.

Her breath condensed on the glass in soft puffs. She raised one finger and traced a line, letting cracks of night trickle in.

Letting darkness overwhelm her.

Letting herself die a little bit more.

Letting Leon go.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

_Complication_

As Jill watched Chris, she reflected how proud she was of him. He'd taken her words to heart, and for the last week had made a clear, concentrated, and largely successful effort to bring himself under control. It was showing in the gym, his fighting and shooting becoming less erratic; it was showing in their relationship; it was showing in their professional life -- such as it was. In fact, she never would have predicted he'd make such a total turnaround, and he'd done it all for her. Her heart glowed when she thought of that. She _was _proud of him, so proud she could hardly bear it.

"YOU WHAT?" Chris screamed, his knuckles white on the kitchen chair. With a flip of his wrist, he sent the chair into the far wall.

Well, Jill thought, not right now.

But she couldn't blame him for his current mood. She shared it. Her anger didn't explode like Chris', but it simmered, drawing you in like a spider trapping a fly. "You didn't feel you could trust us?" she asked now in her coolest, darkest voice.

Barry held up two gloved hands and backed toward the door. "Look, you two are angry. Why don't I come back later?"

"You're not going anywhere!" Chris grabbed the bigger man's arm and yanked him back into the kitchen. "You knew where my sister was, you son of a bitch? You KNEW, and you didn't tell us? You and that headstrong little punk just walked in there thinking you'd take Wesker down between you?"

"Because," Jill added, her calmness even more unnatural after Chris' outburst, "they didn't trust us."

Barry spun on her. "Jill, you _know_ that's not true. And Chris, I would have told you if I'd know where Claire was. I knew where Ada was. Ada. Not Claire. I didn't even know if she'd lead us anywhere... and I didn't want to get your hopes up. Besides, you know Leon had the best chance of sweet talking Ada."

Jill bobbed her head. "Yes, that worked out really well for you, didn't it?"

"I wanted to come back for you, but Leon..."

"Oh, so you take orders from Kennedy now?" Chris spun in place and hunched over the sink. Jill wondered if he was going to throw up or if he just couldn't stand looking Barry in the eye. "Y'know, Barry, ever since Chambers took off, it's been the three of us -- the last remaining members of STARS. We've managed to stay a team through a lot of crap. But this..."

"Chris, don't be such an idiot. You know I'm still on your side. And I don't take orders from anyone."

In answer Chris swung his fist into the wall.

A shocked silence followed as Barry and Jill stared at the crumpled drywall spidering away from his fist. Swallowing her anger, Jill took a step forward. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not bloody okay! My sister's trapped with a maniac, now he has Kennedy for motivation, and I think I just broke my hand!"

Heaving a sigh, Jill pried his fist out of the wall, ignoring his yelp of pain. "It's not broken," she informed him, flexing the fingers. "Just bruised. Serves you right, too."

Chris shook his head. He squeezed her arm with his good hand and stumbled to the only chair he hadn't tossed away. Slumping into it, he shook his head and leveled his gaze at Barry. "You have ten seconds to tell me where she is."

"No," Jill interrupted. "We're not playing that game anymore, Chris, remember? If we run off half-cocked we're going to end up in the same situation as Leon." She glanced at Barry. "How did you escape, by the way?"

A dark flush stole over Barry's cheeks. "I was, uh, I wasn't inside."

"What?"

"I was outside," he repeated loudly. "In the chopper. Kennedy can't fly worth a damn, and he wanted to make sure he had a quick getaway."

Chris gaped at him. "So you let him go in there by himself? Were you _trying_ to get him killed?" He thought for a moment and added, "Good job."

"I wasn't trying to get him killed! How was I supposed to know Ada would betray us?"

Jill snorted. "Oh, I dunno... Maybe because she's betrayed us every other time we've had anything to do with her? Because she's a cold-hearted mercenary? Because she's so desperate for what Wesker can give her she'd sell out her own mother?"

"Okay, okay! We're not all psychology experts."

Chris shook his head, ignoring them. "We're going to have to call in every favour we can manage," he muttered, finger tapping restlessly against the table. "And pile up some new ones besides. And we'll have to move quickly. Claire has a soft spot for that little weasel; if Wesker threatens him, she'll do anything he says." He raised his eyes to meet theirs. "Does anyone know why he took her, by the way? I assumed it was to get to me -- but she's been gone a week without a word. Even for Wesker, that's carrying the game a little far."

"I don't know." Jill rose and headed for the other room, mentally running contacts. "Maybe someone can find out. I'll get on the computer; Barry, you get on the phone. Chris, you just concentrate on keeping it together, okay? Make some coffee or something."

"I think I'll put some ice on my hand, actually."

"Well, make coffee after." She ducked out before he could answer, satisfied with the last word.

Which was good, because that was about all she was satisfied with right now. Chris' words weighed on her more heavily than she wanted him to know. Why had Wesker taken Clare? She knew her captain; he didn't do anything without a reason. And she was very afraid they wouldn't like the answer when they found it.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

_Crescendo_

The high, monotonous drone cut into Claire's dreams, dragging her awake like a particularly vile alarm clock. She moaned, rolling her head to one side, easing the kinks. Tightening her legs, she stretched her arms over her head.

Or tried to. The resistance of leather straps binding her wrists brought her fully awake in a flash, suddenly, horribly aware of where she was and what was happening to her.

Sure enough, she found herself lying in what seemed to be a combined hospital room and laboratory. Her arms and legs were strapped to the bed, but her head was free; she could lift it enough to look around, taking in the computers, the unfamiliar equipment. Her gaze came to rest on a case of syringes and she shuddered.

"Claire," muttered a hoarse voice from somewhere behind her.

"Leon!" She twisted her head to find him in the same predicament, his bed several yards from her own. She strained her wrist anyway, trying to reach his hand. "Leon, are you okay?"

His dark eyes swirled under the dim lights, flashing pinpricks of self-loathing. "No, I'm not okay. I'm an idiot, and I deserve whatever happens. But you, Claire..."

"Leon, don't. Not now."

He shook his head and offered her a rueful grin. "Not the most romantic setting, huh?"

"Not by a long shot. What happened?"

He shrugged, or tried to. "I pulled a Chris. Got stupid. When I heard Wesker had you again, I snapped."

"So Chris doesn't know where we are?"

"He might. Barry knew, and since I haven't seen him, I'm assuming he's either free or dead."

Claire closed her eyes and breathed a silent prayer of thanks. "I bet he escaped. Wesker's not the master of subtlety, or hadn't you noticed? I don't think he'd hesitate to swing Barry's head from the ceiling if he thought it would gain him an advantage."

Leon winced. "Do you have to be so graphic?"

"Hey, I'm an artist; it's in my blood."

They exchanged a brief smile. But their situation didn't allow for levity, and soon they were searching for means of escape. Claire wasn't optimistic. She knew Wesker, had been his prisoner once before. He wouldn't leave them any opportunity. "Oh, God," she whispered out loud, her gaze once more resting on the case of syringes. "What's he going to do to us?"

"Hey," Leon replied sharply. "We're going to get out of here long before we have to find out."

Footsteps echoed through the room, and Claire rolled her head to face him. "Oh really?"

Leon didn't answer. He didn't have to. The door slid open and Wesker stepped into their field of view. "Ah, you're awake. Excellent. I was afraid I'd have to delay another day."

Claire twisted in her bonds. "Wesker, you lying bastard -- you said you'd let Leon go!"

"Did I? And when was that, dear heart?"

She raked her mind for the details, but they escaped her. Still, he had to have promised -- she wouldn't have broken without his...?

He smiled, not unkindly. "You assumed, Miss Redfield. I said nothing of the kind. No indeed, I'm grateful to the both of you for providing me with subjects to replace the late Mr. Burnside. The only question remaining is..." Reaching into his pocket, he produced a syringe and tapped it against his finger. "Who wants to go first?"

-----

Jill sank onto the bed, exhausted. A pile of papers tumbled to the floor and she cursed loudly, but didn't bother retrieving them. She already knew what they contained: names, names, names, contact numbers and emails, some current, some not. She'd been through the list five times today and turned up less than half their contacts; of those, less than a quarter were able or willing to lend their assistance.

Someone rapped softly at the door. "Come in," she called without moving.

Barry slid into the darkness like a very large shadow. "Hey, Jill. Am I interrupting anything?"

"My slow descent into insanity."

"You're lucky. Mine's rushing on with the speed of a roller coaster." He spun the desk chair backwards and straddled it.

"Where's Chris?"

"Asleep, finally."

"You have to drug him?"

"Amazingly, no. He's trying, Jill."

"I know he is. But this is a lot to take. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to keep it together, and it's not my sister out there."

Barry laughed harshly. "Hey, you're not the idiot who let Leon stroll in there on his own."

She snorted. "So now we're going to play the blame game? It's in the past, Barry, and you can't change it unless you do something. So stop blaming yourself and get moving."

Barry became oddly quiet, his gaze intense in the half-light. "You know who said that?"

"Said what?"

"All that about blaming yourself."

"Me. Just now."

"Wesker."

She sat up. "What?"

"Six... no, seven months before the mansion. To Chris, actually. After that girl was raped and murdered in the alley."

Memory tugged at her. "Wait, I do remember this. Chris was so angry -- totally blamed himself, didn't he. Why?"

"Can't remember. He was supposed to be on a case involving her, that's all I know. Anyway, he was sitting around the office ranting and raving all night, and finally Wesker turned to him and said..."

A slow smile spread across Jill's face, and she added her voice to Barry's. "Stop blaming yourself and get moving. Every second you sit here you make things worse."

A long silence. Jill swallowed, the memory's sweet nostalgia mingling with a fierce pain. "Why'd he betray us, Barry?"

"In a way he didn't. We were never really his friends, his team. It was all an act from day one." He swallowed his bitterness. "He wasn't the man we thought he was."

There was more to say, so much more, but it had all been said before. Jill inspected the big man's face, lined and tired in the darkness, and changed the subject. "How's Terry?"

He brightened. "Great, really good. Her leg's almost better and the kids have been helping out a lot. I promised I'd be home as soon as I could..." He sighed. "If I could. Didn't mention that."

"Probably wise. So what's the plan, hero?"

"That's what I actually came to talk to you about. Any changes to the list you gave me after supper?"

"Nope. I'm still waiting to hear on Daniels and Murphy, but I'm not hopeful."

"Well, I outlined a plan based on what we have; if those two show up, it'll be a bonus. Just so we don't _lose_ anyone."

She shook her head. "We're banking on Leon keeping his mouth shut, you know. And he's not exactly famous for that."

"Not fair, Jill. I've worked with Leon, and he's a damn good field agent. Better than me. Maybe even better than you. I know he hasn't breathed a word about me to Wesker."

"What about Ada?"

He shrugged. "I don't know if Leon told her about me, but either way, she has no way of knowing I was outside. It's a solid bet, Jill. I'd lay my life savings on Leon this time."

"You're laying more than that. You're laying our lives."

"You're right, but I don't know what else to do. And if you have any bright ideas, you might try sharing them instead of shooting holes in everyone else's." Jill blinked, and Barry held up his hands. "Sorry. Sorry. It's been a long day for all of us."

Jill leaned over and plucked the paper from his hand. "This your dangerous but brilliant plan?"

"Yeah."

"Looks short."

"It might be."

They exchanged smiles. "All right. I'll look through it and spread the word. When do we move?"

"Tomorrow at sundown."

"Great." She slapped his thigh. "Now you get some sleep, Barry Burton. You look like you're about to keel over."

"Sure thing, Lady Jill. You too, okay?"

Jill, smiling, nodded her agreement, but she knew she was lying through her teeth.

Oh, God. Wesker. Again. Could she face him? Could any of them?

They'd better. Or they just might end up with a knife in their backs.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

_Reluctance_

Claire stared at the dim florescent lights, listening to her own heart beat. Leon had been asleep for some time now -- asleep, or unconscious; she wasn't sure what Wesker had pumped into their veins. That terrified her the most: not knowing what he'd given them, a harmless sedative or a virus that even now worked on their cells, changing them into something new...

She'd never had the chance to ask Steve how much of himself he'd retained once Alexia had transformed him. By the end, she'd seen nothing of the boy she'd known -- but then, she hadn't seen much Steve in the monster chasing her through the island base either. And he'd summoned enough willpower then to save her.

In a way she wished he hadn't. That meant something of him had lived on in that monster's body. Above all, Claire wanted some assurance that she -- her consciousness, her soul, whatever you wanted to call it -- would be free by the time Wesker finished with her. But what if it wasn't? What if she lurked in the creature's body, dimly aware of the horrible acts she was committing but unable to stop herself? What did she do then?

She closed her eyes, unable to summon even enough strength for tears. The soft echo of footsteps signaled Wesker's approach, but she didn't bother turning in his direction. Maybe he'd think she was asleep. She couldn't seem to muster the energy to care very much. Whatever he planned to do to her he would do, and how was she supposed to stop him? Chris wouldn't find her. He couldn't help her if he did; she was finished. Wesker's taunts had no power over her now.

But the touch of leather to her neck did. She shivered involuntarily as he ran a finger down her throat. Eyes snapping open, she jerked away and glared at him.

Wesker smiled in smug satisfaction. "I can tell when you're really asleep, dear heart. Your breathing," he explained, his hard red eyes inches above her own. Claire tried not to cringe, concentrating on staring into their depths. Sure enough -- deep beneath the glowing, she found the hint of pupils reflecting her own tired face.

Wesker blinked, breaking the spell. "Don't you have anything left to say, Miss Redfield? You were quite vocal the last time I left you."

Claire made a face. He would throw that at her -- but who could blame her? When Wesker had gone for Leon with that syringe, she'd exploded in fury. She barely remembered what she'd said, only that her furious screams had met with only amusement until she'd shouted one deadly line: "No wonder you're so afraid of my brother! At least he can kick your ass without turning himself into a mutant freak!"

She'd earned a crack across the face for that comment, the pain surrounding her in a haze of darkness broken only by the pinprick in her arm...

She glanced at the red spot left by the needle. Wesker followed her gaze and smiled. "A sedative, dear heart. Nothing more... yet."

"And Leon?" she risked asking, a slight tremor in her voice.

He inclined his head. "The same. Still..." She watched as he crossed the room to an incubator of some sort, prying the door open with gloved hands. "I think it's time we advanced to the next stage of the experiment, don't you?"

"Not really, no."

He smiled without looking at her, preoccupied with drawing the contents of a bottle into a syringe. "A rhetorical question, Miss Redfield. Do you know what that means, or shall I explain it to you?"

"Bite me," she muttered, turning away. She couldn't read the label on the bottle and didn't need to. She knew damn well what it contained.

Tears stung her eyes, almost making her laugh. Here she'd thought she couldn't summon another tear if she'd tried, and they were spilling all over her face against her will. Perhaps her last few moments as a living breathing human, and here she was crying them away.

But no -- not moments as a human, but moments as a caged beast trapped by a sadistic madman. No, her last moments as a human had been in that diner, contemplating her escape from the creep beside her. Adrenaline, disgust, excitement, anger, fear, and anticipation -- human emotions. Things she had felt once.

Now she knew only despair.

The diner felt like months ago, but she knew it had been a week at most. She'd been in that cell what, two days? She wasn't sure anymore. And she had no idea how long she'd been strapped to this table, fed and hydrated through the IV in her left arm. She hated that thing, had tried to wiggle free of it once before. The pain had stopped her -- the pain and the certain knowledge her efforts were futile, that she was causing herself needless pain when no doubt Wesker had plenty in store.

One of his hands caught her chin and pulled her around to face him. He inspected her face and she stared at him dully, no longer even trying to hide her tears or glare her hatred. He held a syringe in his right hand... It would all be over soon.

But to her surprise he didn't jab it into her arm. Instead, he brushed his thumb over her cheek, wiping away tears. "Are you frightened?"

A thousand responses ran through her mind, most of them starting with "what do you think?" But when she spoke, she only said "Yes."

"I've never been frightened," he replied, almost to himself.

Claire blinked. "Never? Not even before...?"

Wesker shook his head. "Perhaps when I was a child. If so, I don't remember."

"You must have been," she told him, junior courses in psychology surging past a blockade of fear. He still held her chin in his hand, cupping it gently. She brushed against him when she twisted closer. "Didn't anything... you know, bad ever happen to you? When you were young?"

"Anything bad? Well, let's see." His face twisted in an ironic smile. "My mother was raped and murdered while my father and I watched. My father shot the rapist then himself. Does that count?"

For a moment Claire couldn't speak. She stared into those demonic eyes, searching for any hint of emotion, any sign of humanity. "And you felt...?"

"Anger." A cold note ran through his voice, raising an answering chill in her abdomen. For a moment his eyes, though fiery red, seemed cold as ice. "Rage. Grief. But not fear." He glanced at her as though suddenly realizing she was there. In the space of a single blink, he restored his calm. "It doesn't matter how long we talk, you know," he added, his usual detachment restored. "No one is coming for you."

"I know."

"Do you? And does this cause you fear as well?"

She nodded helplessly and yanked against her restraints. "You've never felt fear, but you feed off the fear of others, don't you?"

"What makes you say that?"

"This..." She tried to encompass the room with a wave of her arm, managing only a flap of her hand. "All of this. You didn't have to do this. You could have injected us and been done with it. The same with the mansion -- you didn't have to set it up that way, didn't have to torment your own team. You could have just thrown them into a room with your twisted creations and said let's play. But instead you toyed with them, pretended to be an ally so you could be near them, watch their fear -- breathe it, taste it." She tilted her head, aware that he still hadn't released her, aware that he was listening intently. "You really _haven't_ felt fear, have you? It's not just an idle boast. There's something left out of you -- something that tells you when to be afraid. It's how you were able to act so recklessly. And yet... fear compels you. You can't feel it for yourself, so you want to be around it."

He met her eyes. "You may be right, Miss Redfield. Or you may be babbling in an attempt to prolong your life."

She laughed through her tears. "I wish you would kill me, Wesker. Better than turning me into a freak."

"You won't necessarily be a monster, you know," he said thoughtfully. "What I'm injecting into you is a diluted version of the virus I created from preliminary studies of Mr. Burnside's blood. If it works the way I anticipate, you'll be improved -- stronger, faster, healthier than ever. And what will I do with you then?"

"Kill me, I imagine. You don't want someone your equal running around."

"Diluted, dear heart. You would never be my match." His gaze ran along her body. "But you might well be my equal." His hand tightened on her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. Perversely, Claire turned her cheek into his palm; at this point she craved comfort from anyone, anything, even him. The softness of his touch contrasted the steel in his voice. "What do you think, Miss Redfield?"

"About what?" she managed, tearing her gaze from his hand. Her heart hammered in her chest, and not only from fear.

"You want to play games, do you?" He smiled at her, a genuine smile rather than his usual cold smirk. "Very well. We shall see, Miss Redfield, what kind of opponent you make." With that he swung to his feet and moved away from her.

Claire swiveled her head. "Wait! Where are you going?"

Wesker paused over Leon's prone body, syringe poised. "I thought we'd try him first. It gives you an extra chance -- allows me to refine any anomalies Mr. Kennedy may experience before I perform the test on you."

"No," Claire whispered, trying to stretch a bound hand toward him. "Wesker, please don't hurt him. Test your virus on me. I'll do whatever you want me to; I'll test it willingly, I'll submit to anything -- but don't kill him. Please let him live."

Wesker smiled and plunged the syringe into Leon's arm. "Leon!" Claire cried, writhing in her bonds. Leon jerked in his sleep, his face tightening and then relaxing, his features sharp and young and -- for now -- human.

Wesker stroked her hair as he passed, ignoring her attempt to pull away. "We can watch the effects of the virus together. It shouldn't be long now."

"Don't touch me," she hissed in reply, and he withdrew his hand, face expressionless, before taking a seat nearby. Claire turned away from him and stared at Leon, willing him to open his eyes.

Oh, God, Chris. Where are you? What are you doing? And why aren't you here to save us?

And if you don't come... What do I do then?


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

_Falling_

Seconds ticked away as Claire stared at Leon's calm face. Occasionally his eyelids twitched as though dreaming. So far she couldn't see any change in him. Half of her wanted to ask Wesker how long the virus would take to cause a reaction. It could be hours or days and she would never know unless he told her. _It shouldn't be long now..._ What did that _mean_, exactly? What was time to Wesker?

But she didn't dare break the silence between him. By angling her head away, by focusing her attention on Leon, she could almost ignore Wesker's stare burning into the back of her neck. She could almost pretend he wasn't there. She was free to hope and whisper and even pray. If she spoke, she would sacrifice that freedom for knowledge.

Isn't that what we always do? she wondered. Sacrifice freedom for knowledge. Umbrella, Wesker, all of them -- the people desperate to find what was never meant to be found. Freedom for knowledge. Life for death. But at least we know.

An alarm klaxon broke the silence.

In spite of herself, Claire pivoted to face Wesker and found him bolt upright. Clearly, the alarm had startled him as well.

He crossed to a computer monitor and pressed a button. "Ada? Report."

The woman's voice was clear and calm. "No clue, boss. I'm just heading out to investigate... unless you want me to stay put."

"Treacherous bitch," Claire growled.

A momentary silence descended. Wesker turned slowly, freezing her in place with his eyes. Without moving, he said: "Find out what is causing all this commotion, Ada, and dispose of it. Unless of course it happens to bear the surname Redfield. Then I want it brought to me."

"Yes sir."

The line went dead, but Wesker continued to stare at her with those gleaming red eyes. Claire trembled, her hands twisting against her restraints. "Your personal relationships are of no concern to me, Miss Redfield," he said at last. "But if you ever interrupt me again, ever interfere with me again, I will show you the true resources at my disposal. Do I make myself clear?"

As mud, she thought dryly, but didn't quite dare to say it. "Yes," she mumbled instead.

"Good." Returning to the console, he tapped at the keyboard. A row of monitors flickered to life above his head, bathing the room in an eerie blue glow. Claire watched as they rapidly flashed images -- what looked like deserted halls and laboratories.

The lab's security system. Of course. She'd used it herself more than once -- not _this_ one, obviously, but others like it. For all its supposed smarts, Umbrella wasn't too good at adapting its technology, even when it had been proven vulnerable or inefficient.

Case in point: she knew of at least three situations where Umbrella's little puppets had gotten out of hand -- four if you counted Wesker. It didn't seem to make them any smarter about security. After all, this was the second Umbrella lab she'd seen Wesker use as a base.

Suddenly an image caught her attention, only a glimpsed shadow before the monitor flicked on -- but all the same, Claire knew against hope or reason who that shadow belonged to. Leon had been right -- Barry had escaped -- Chris was coming for her.

She didn't know if the thought made her glad or terrified.

Wesker must have seen it too, because he slowed the cycle and drifted back through the shots. At last he settled on a dark shot of an overhanging ledge. Tapping a few keys, he brought the scene sharply into focus, and Claire sucked in her breath.

Chris. Chris holding Jill's waist, helping her down from the ledge. Barry behind them, and a crowd of others vanishing slowly into the shadows.

A slow, cruel smile crossed Wesker's face. He shook his head as though disgusted at their audacity and struck another few keys.

On the monitor, a metal door slammed down behind Barry. Jill spun, capsizing Chris; they fell to the ground together and Barry narrowly missed landing on top of them. The monitor didn't have sound, but Claire got the gist of things -- Chris waving his arms and shouting, the others running around in response to his orders, searching for any means of escape.

Claire was very certain they would find none.

"Ada," Wesker was saying now, "we have visitors in the south atrium. Proceed there at once."

"Gotcha."

Claire stared in disbelief. "You're crazy," she told him. "My brother will gut her where she stands. You don't really think that one psycho bitch can stand up to a whole team of professionals?"

"Of course not, dear heart. I have full intentions of joining her." He polished his sunglasses on the corner of his shirt and slid them over his eyes. "But a reminder of precisely how much she owes me won't hurt in the meantime." In the blink of an eye he was standing over her, her chin firmly in his hand, ignoring her attempts to pull away. "Keep an eye on Mr. Kennedy for me, Miss Redfield. For the sake of science."

She struggled futilely against him. "You're insane, Wesker. You're a crazy, inhuman, pathetic little worm, and I hope my brother guts you where you stand."

She fully expected another blow, but he surprised her by smiling. "You may be right. We'll see, won't we."

And then he was gone.

Claire didn't waste a second before turning back to Leon. "Wake up," she shouted, struggling to reach him -- impossible, since almost six feet of space separated their bound hands, but she tried just the same. "Leon! Open your eyes, damn it!"

He didn't even stir. Claire collapsed on her pillow, exhausted, casting her eyes frantically around the room. There must be _something_ she could use as a weapon, as a way to escape!

There probably was, she reflected dryly. The problem was, she couldn't reach anything not actually lying on the bed beside her, and she didn't think a bedsheet or a pillow would be much help.

She squirmed against her restraints, drawing blood from her wrists as she jerked her hand into the leather cuff. Forcing her thumb into her palm, she tried to wiggle free, but had to admit defeat when the pain almost blinded her.

Great. What now? Lie back and wait for Wesker to show up with Chris so they could all die together?

"Claire?"

It took her a moment to place the voice. Then she swiveled her head fast enough to give herself whiplash. "Leon! You're awake!"

"I'm awake," he agreed softly, his eyes hazy -- like someone on a heavy dose of painkillers, she realized. "What's going on?"

She lowered her voice, trying to penetrate the sluggishness enveloping him. "Leon, listen to me. Chris and Jill and Barry are here. They have a team in the building. Wesker and Ada went after them..."

"Ada?"

She fought to control the fury in her stomach. "Yes, Ada," she replied in what she hoped was a calm tone. "They're going to gut my brother then come back to finish us. Leon, are you listening? Can you hear me?"

"Claire..." He tried to raise a hand, seeming puzzled when he encountered the restraints. "I don't feel right."

"He pumped you full of the virus," she whispered. "Sedatives and the virus, Leon. I don't know what they're doing to you... Oh God..."

"The virus..."

"Leon, don't you remember? Are you okay? How do you feel?"

He half-smiled at her. "My head's itchy."

Claire laughed in spite of herself. That was starting to sound like the old Leon. "If you're awake enough to have any bright ideas, we could sure use a brilliant escape plan right about now."

Leon blinked a few times, his eyes almost normal. He started to sit up, grunting as he once again encountered the restraints.

And then he shot forward, tearing the leather cuffs right out of the bed.

Turning to meet Claire's shocked expression, he offered her a grin. "How's that for a start?"


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

_Heartbeat_

Claire gasped and tried to reconcile the fact that yes, the man who had just torn through his heavy leather restraints was in fact Leon Kennedy. "Why... How...?"

"Whatever he pumped into me, I don't think it had quite the effect he'd anticipated," Leon replied grimly. He leaped to the floor and rolled his head, the cracking of his neck making her wince. In two quick strides he closed the distance between them and yanked the restraints from her arms.

Claire sat up as he freed her legs, rubbing her shoulders. "We have to move. Wesker's gone after my brother, and Ada's with him."

"Ada..." Leon's eyes flashed darkly. "You're right. Let's go."

They both shot for the door and skidded to a halt. "We don't know where we're going," Claire realized out loud. Leon was already back at the terminal, rapidly scanning laboratory layouts and trying to match them with the security shot still frozen onscreen. Claire watched the muscles in his neck, tense and taut, ready for action, and she realized several things all at once: they still didn't know the long term effects of the virus Wesker had pumped into Leon; Leon was still no match for Wesker -- he'd emphasized the diluted nature of the sample -- and she really could use a washroom right about now.

But she didn't have time to think about any of that, because Leon was already straightening up, a piece of paper chugging into the print tray beside him. "Got it. Let's move, Claire."

She swallowed any response and ran after him, trusting him to lead the way. After all, what was she supposed to say? At least his eyes weren't glowing red. Did that mean Wesker's new improved virus was a success? Would Wesker use it to become even stronger, even more inhuman?

What a _mess_. She was beginning to wish she'd never come looking for her brother in the first place, just stayed home and studied art and never heard the word _Umbrella_ unless it was a rainy day. _Wiser but sadder,_ as one of her university profs had summed up the state of modern affairs.

Screw that. She wasn't going to let Umbrella or Wesker rule her life. Somehow they were going to get out of here, all of them, intact. And from there she'd see what she could do about piecing her life together.

Good timing for the major life decisions, Claire. Now wake up and get ready to fight.

Fight? "Leon, we're unarmed."

"I know. We're making a quick detour." He skidded around a corner, seized a metal door, and tore it right off its hinges. Claire gaped in shock as an alarm echoed through the still hall, making her jump. "Sorry," he added with a grin. He seemed to be taking just a little too much pleasure in this newfound strength of his.

Of course he'd led them to the armory. Claire started grabbing weapons and ammo, as much as she could carry. "Leon, you know you're not as strong as him, don't you?"

"I'm a hell of a lot closer than I was before."

"Yeah, but that's not going to be enough. If you go after him he'll kill you. Just remember that, okay?"

Leon glanced at her and smiled, for a moment the boyish rookie cop she remembered. "OK, I promise."

A burden lifting from her chest, Claire jogged after him back into the corridor, the comforting weight of a shotgun bouncing against her hip, a shiny new Glock clutched in her hands.

As they neared another set of double doors, Leon waved at her to slow down. Claire crept up beside him and they positioned themselves on either side of the door. Slowly, Leon eased it open a small amount. Voices emerged from within:

"We've wasted enough time on this." Barry. Claire's heart skipped a beat.

"What do you suggest, we throw her into the pit?" Jill. Which meant...

"Would the two of you quit arguing? Just tie her up and leave her here and let's go before he finds us!" Chris. Oh, God, Chris. Her brother. Claire closed her eyes for a moment, her jaw trembling. She'd never imagined she'd be so happy to hear his voice.

But of course the she in the equation would be Ada. And if they'd defeated Ada, they couldn't have met up with...

A slow, sarcastic round of applause met her ears, followed by the click of automatic weapons -- far more than three. What had Chris done, recruited the entire army? "Well done, Chris," came Wesker's dry, caustic tone. Claire met Leon's eyes and arched her eyebrow. He shook his head slowly -- not yet. Claire shrugged. She figured he was the one infected with Wesker's virus; he probably had a better idea how to go about attacking.

"Wekser," Chris snarled. He stepped forward and ran a hand through his hair, almost forgetting about the shotgun he still held, coming within an inch of jabbing himself in the eye with it. It wasn't quite the cool, controlled image he'd hoped to project to his former boss. With a scowl, he continued: "Where's my sister?"

Wesker leaned against the railing, staring down thirty odd automatic weapons with a smirk. "Safe and sound. For now. A situation which can change if you don't withdraw from this base immediately."

"We aren't going anywhere!" Jill leaped up beside him, and Chris felt a surge of pride. She was so fierce, so indomitable; even now, facing Wesker down, their lives at stake and so much more, she was ready to fight.

"Not without Claire," Chris agreed. He felt Barry's eyes boring into the back of his neck and added with a sigh, "Oh, alright. Claire and Leon. Where are they?"

But Wesker had apparently dismissed him. He focused his attention on the woman at Chris' feet, her dress torn, her face bruised. Gasping for breath, Ada Wong met her employer's eyes. "Sorry," she offered in a surprisingly calm voice. "I was slightly outnumbered."

Someone in the ranks behind him snickered, but no one else reacted. Chris sympathized. They still stood with weapons at the ready, awaiting an order to attack, retreat -- to do anything. Trouble was, he didn't know what to tell them. So far Wesker hadn't killed anybody; that was probably a best case scenario. He didn't think they'd be able to kill _him_, and even if they were, what if he'd stashed Claire someplace else? How would they find her?

But everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to give an order.

Except for Wesker, who was talking to Ada. "Don't let it trouble you," he was saying, crossing smoothly towards her, seemingly oblivious to the weapons trained on him, following his progress. He passed within an inch of Chris as he bent to help Ada to her feet, and it was all Chris could do to keep from lunging at the man's throat.

And then, in one lightning quick movement, Wesker spun.

Chris was staring down the barrel of a Colt Magnum handgun.

Their eyes met.

And Wesker fired.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

_The Cold_

I'm going to die.

That was all Chris Redfield had time to think as he faced his former mentor. Time seemed to slow as Wesker pulled the trigger but Chris couldn't move, couldn't react.

_I'm going to die._ I'm going to die, and Claire's going to be at his mercy. Claire. Claire, I'm so sorry.

Something struck him with the impact of a freight train. The air rushed from his lungs as he slammed into the pavement, a heavy weight settling on top of him. Closing his eyes, Chris waited for the rush of pain from the wound.

None came. His hands hurt, and his ribs throbbed, and he'd smashed his elbow pretty good. But he wasn't bleeding.

He shifted and the weight on top of him receded. "Sorry," said Leon Kennedy, reaching down and hauling Chris to his feet as if he was a child. Chris bit his lip to keep from screaming as Leon wrenched his injured elbow. "No time to warn you."

Chris swiveled, taking in the situation: a bullet embedded in the wall behind him; Leon looking calm and cool and collected; Claire in the doorway, eyes wide with horror; Wesker still holding the gun, his head titled as though intrigued; and a small army of mercenaries at a total loss for what to do.

Chris sympathized. He didn't really know either. He glanced at Jill. Her face had gone totally white, and she was holding Barry's arm for support. When their eyes met, she nodded briefly, as if to say glad you're still alive. He might have believed her casualness if not for the way her knees were trembling.

He figured his might be trembling pretty bad too. "Kennedy..." he managed.

Wesker swung into motion, holstering his weapon and offering the entire assembly a broad smile -- never a good sign. "Mr. Kennedy indeed. How very good to see you up and around."

Leon tossed his head and smiled in return, cold anger filling his eyes. Without looking at Chris, he waved him aside. "I've got this one."

"Um, excuse me?" Chris shook his head, hoping he had some sort of brain damage. Otherwise he just might have to kill this little twerp.

He didn't have time to dwell on that, though, because Claire chose that moment to fly into his arms. All of a sudden nothing else mattered, not the pain in his ribs or the maniac with the gun or the fact that all of them were about to die. He held her as tightly as he could and buried his head in her shoulder so no one would notice the single tear streaming from the corner of his eye. "Claire."

She hugged him more tightly, making him wince. "I'm sorry, Chris. I'm so sorry. I was so..."

"Don't even think about it." He managed to coax her arms free but kept his grip on her, easing her behind him. "Did he hurt you?"

"She's fine, Chris," Wesker replied with some amusement. "Slapped around a bit, but not beaten, and not infected. Not her. Mr. Kennedy, on the other hand..."

Leon grinned slightly, although there didn't seem to be any humor in the expression. "You wanted to test your bloody virus, Wesker. Now you see the results."

"_Diluted_..." hissed Claire from behind him, and then all hell broke loose.

Things went from still and silent to a confused jumble of gunshots and shouts in a matter of seconds. It all started with Leon, who lunged for Wesker with his hands stretched out. Wesker caught the other man's wrist and flipped him, sending him slamming to the metal floor. Leaping to her feet, Ada snatched the gun from Wesker's side, trained it on Jill, and pulled the trigger. Barry threw her to the floor, and the rest of the team opened fire above them -- too late to hit Ada, who'd already swung behind Wesker.

Chris shoved Claire into a sheltered recess in the wall. "Stay here!" he shouted.

She shouted something after him, but he didn't hear. He only had one thing on his mind: get Wesker.

What the hell was Kennedy _thinking_? OK, so obviously Wesker had done something to him; he was pissed off. Chris got it. He was pretty mad himself -- if the near bullet to the brain hadn't done it, the comment about Claire getting "slapped around" certainly would have. But attacking Wesker, single-handed and unarmed?

Leon was bent half-backwards over the metal railing, clawing at Wesker's hand around his throat. Ada crouched behind them taking potshots at Chris' team, who were withdrawing, Jill barking orders as they attempted to organize themselves into some sort of defensive position on the narrow platform. No one dared return fire, not with Leon so perfectly poised between them.

Leon wasn't going to be an issue much longer, Chris thought grimly as Wesker forced him another inch over the railing. Not unless Chris got there first.

And then, to his amazement, Leon's hand whipped around much faster than Chris could follow, slamming into the side of Wesker's head. Caught off guard, Wesker staggered, giving Leon the leverage he needed to leap to his feet. He clutched at his throat, gasping for air, then followed up with a quick roundhouse kick.

It would have been devastating if it connected; as it was, Wesker simply leaped aside and Leon's foot connected sharply with the metal railing. He winced but spun back, facing Wesker more warily now.

Ada had stopped shooting. So had everyone else. They stood in a helpless clump wondering what to do -- all expect Chris, who was steadily advancing behind Wesker, magnum in hand, willing Leon to keep his attention for just a few more seconds. Sure Wesker seemed to be indestructible, but let's see what seven magnum shots to the back of the head at point blank range did to him. Chris was willing to take those odds.

Leon was hunched over, his arms trembling. Chris got it now -- whatever Wesker had done had made Leon faster, stronger. Not smarter, obviously, or he'd have realized Wesker would never offer him equal power. Leon was going to die. Wesker knew it; Chris could tell by the smirk on his face. Ada knew it too; he could tell by the way she hovered against the railing, looking torn between action and resignation...

Chris was only ten feet away when Wesker slammed Leon hard into the rail. The younger man cried out, spitting up a mouthful of blood.

"Wesker, no!" Ada lunged, but Wesker caught her before she'd taken a step, throwing her easily to the ground.

He stared down at her with cold, dead eyes. "You betrayed me once, Miss Wong, and I let you live. Don't test me." His gaze traveled beyond her to where Chris stood, magnum in hand, completely exposed. Wesker's face relaxed into a grim smile. "Chris. Trying to sneak up on me, were you?" Before Chris could answer, he drove his elbow back sharply. Leon, who had been creeping up behind him, caught it straight in the abdomen; he went down with another cry.

"Coward," Chris said coldly. "You knew damn well that if he had your power he'd wipe the floor with you. It's only your virus that gives you strength, Wesker. Without it you're _nothing_. But we keep beating you again and again, and we're _mere_ humans."

The smile had vanished from Wesker's face. "A situation easily remedied."

"Really? Not so easily at the mansion. Or on the island." Everyone had vanished. Only Wesker remained, the hard lines of his treacherous face filling Chris' vision.

"You were fortunate on the island, Chris. You would have died a horrible death if circumstances hadn't intervened." Slowly, he removed his leather gloves. "I'm rather glad the bullet didn't strike home. It will give me far more pleasure to kill you with my bare hands -- you, and your pathetic comrades." He smiled coldly. "Not your lovely sister, though. Her, I believe I'll keep for myself."

"Bastard!" Chris shouted. He knew Wesker only said it to provoke him but it didn't matter -- he reacted just the same, dropping his gun and swinging wildly at the other man's face. Wesker vanished before he could connect, and what felt like an iron bar slammed into the back of Chris' head, sending him to the floor with little birds dancing through his vision. He shook his head to clear it, which was a mistake. Hunched over, he fought to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged.

Wesker chuckled behind him. "A pity, Chris. You always were one of my best men. You could have been quite an asset if you hadn't proven so obstinate."

"It's called having a conscience." Chris managed to roll over, staggering halfway to his feet. "You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, I understand. It's simply a weakness I don't share."

Chris laughed humorlessly, facing his former captain, the smiles fading from both their faces. They understood what was happening here. One of them had to die. Both of them knew who it would be. But Chris had no intention of going down without a fight. If worst came to worst, he'd try to take Wesker with him.

A sudden alarm split the air, making both of them cringe and cover their ears. "Warning," a voice blasted through the room. "The self destruct system has been activated. One minute to detonation."

"_What?_" Wesker roared.

At the same moment, Leon caught Chris and yanked him back. The two men fell to the ground as a rocket flew over their heads, targeting not Wesker but the ground beneath his feet. In his momentary distraction, Wesker remained frozen. The balcony exploded, pieces of shrapnel scraping Chris' face. With a roar and a scream, Wesker and Ada fell into sudden nothingness.

"He might not be dead!" Chris shouted, crawling forward.

"Chris, no!" Jill yanked his arm from behind. "We have less than a minute to clear out of here, you hear me? Let's go!"

She was right. He staggered to his feet and jerked his head; the others, needing no further encouragement, took off running. "Claire, come on!" he shouted. Leon and Jill hauled him to his feet between them and bolted for the exit.

They ran about ten steps before he realized Claire wasn't behind them. "Claire!" he shouted, spinning to find her standing in the middle of the balcony, her eyes filled with uncertainty.

"Warning: forty five seconds to detonation."

"Claire!"

She spun and ran in the other direction.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

_Sacrifice_

Claire's heart thudded in her ears as she leaped down a flight of stairs. She heard Chris shouting behind her, but Jill was dragging him away, shouting just as loud if not louder. _You go girl_, she cheered silently.

_What the hell was she doing?_

She leaped down another flight of stairs and peered over the ledge, dimly registering the electronic voice's reminder that she had thirty seconds until detonation (and my God she was sick of hearing that voice and that particular warning). She scanned the rubble caused by the rocket, her hands shaking on the ledge...

_There_!

Wesker's crumpled form slumped against a ledge. Swallowing, Claire caught the floor and swung herself down, gasping as her legs absorbed the shock of the drop.

What was she doing? That one was easy. She was rescuing the most diabolic, evil, cold-hearted man -- if you could call him that -- alive -- if you could call him _that_. A man who wanted her brother dead, a man who had tortured her, killed Steve, infected Leon with some bizarre virus.

So the better question was why?

_Because we're different from him_, Claire told herself as she leaped down the last flight of stairs, running to his side. _Because if we leave him to die we become the monsters he wants us to be. Because I won't let myself become a murderer._

_Bullshit_, answered a soft voice in the back of her head.

She stifled it. She had no time to think about the whys of the situation just now anyway. She was running out of time; if she'd gambled wrong, if Wesker was dead, she'd never escape the lab before it blew up.

Part of her had always known she'd die in an Umbrella laboratory -- if by always you meant the last two years.

"Wesker," she shouted, shaking him hard. "Wesker! Wake up, damn it!"

He stirred as the electronic voice began its countdown: "10...9...8..."

I've never stuck around long enough to hear the countdown, Claire thought, and shook Wesker all the harder. "Wake up! Come on you bastard, or you'll get us both killed!"

"7...6...5..."

"Oh God," Claire whispered, clutching the collar of his jacket. Finally she realized the utter futility of her... well, you couldn't call it a _plan_, really; it was an instinctive response. And it was going to get her killed.

And if she had to decide again, she'd do the exact same thing.

_Why_, damn it? Why?

"4...3...2..."

She dropped her head to her chest.

In a flash of movement, Wesker shot straight up, his arms whipping around her. She actually heard the voice begin the word "one," and then a blast of painful wind struck her face. She threw her arms up to protect herself. The wind went on and on; she couldn't see anything, couldn't open her eyes to try. The only solid thing in the world was Wesker himself, rock solid arms clasping her to his chest. She huddled against him, eyes clenched shut, praying for this to _end_.

And then it did as something struck her hard in the back. She flew forward, Wesker landing on top of her, forcing her down into the cold, wet dirt. She heard the shock of the explosion and screamed as a burning chunk of debris landed less than a foot from her head; Wesker flicked it away and shoved her further beneath him. She didn't resist.

At last the residual noise died away, and only a ringing in Claire's ears remained. Wesker sat up and she slowly joined him, both of their stares fixed on the smoldering remains of the lab in the distance -- and not the too far distant distance, either. Claire shuddered. She glanced at Wesker and found the back of his clothing shredded, spots of blood oozing free. "Are you...?" she managed.

He'd lost his sunglasses in the fall, and the eyes he turned on her now gleamed a red to rival the flames in the distance. "What on earth were you thinking, Miss Redfield?"

"What?"

"Why didn't you escape with your dear brother?"

Claire wavered under his stare, not sure of the answer herself. "Why did you save me?" she countered.

"Insurance."

"Right." She sat back on her heels and shivered in the cold air, praying Chris and the others had escaped in time. She had to find him, if he'd even speak to her... "Who set off the self destruct sequence anyway?"

"I imagine it was Miss Valentine. I did notice her vanish, but I was too preoccupied to think anything of it."

He sounded calm, like he wasn't sitting in the middle of a snow field by a burning building with lacerations and burns on his back and a bleeding gash on his... No, she corrected herself, examining his forehead. The wound had closed already. "What about Ada?"

"Hopefully she found her own escape route. I certainly didn't have time to search for her."

They sat in silence a moment longer. Finally, Claire rose to unsteady feet. "Chris... I have to find him, make sure he's all right. Make sure he knows _I'm_ all right."

"You should have gone with him, Claire."

She blinked. "What did you call me?" Slowly Wesker rose to his feet, uncurling himself like a cat. He offered no response but stood there with his arms folded, still staring at the burning lab. Claire shook her head. "Well... I'm off," she said lamely. "Good luck, I guess... As long as you're not trying to kill my brother."

"I'm afraid I can't let you leave."

She stared at him, certain she'd misheard. "What?"

He twisted his head so he was staring at her. "You're still my link to Chris, Miss Redfield."

"Oh, we're back to _Miss Redfield_, are we?"

"Don't push me."

"_I saved your life!_" she shouted, anger surging in her chest. "I don't even know why I did it, but I did! And this is how you thank me?"

"I saved yours," he pointed out. "Not only here, but several times before. If we're keeping score..."

"My life was only in danger because you put me in danger!"

"What did you think would happen? That I'd have a sudden change of heart, a conversion? That I'd fall on my knees in gratitude? That's not the way it works, dear heart. Not the way at all."

"You're despicable."

"Yes."

"You're not even a man. You're a monster, a creature, a..."

"I'm not going to argue with you. You're coming with me."

Claire spat on the ground, not having quite enough nerve to do it in his face, and ran. Wesker was on her in a second, as she'd known he'd be, but she had to make the effort. She struggled furiously against him, writhing like someone possessed, until finally he dropped her to the ground and dealt her a sharp kick to the head. A wash of pain exploded as the darkness swallowed her.

_Idiot_, she thought as she closed her eyes. _You'll die after all._

And she was probably right.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

_Au revoir..._

"Claire!" Chris tore free of Jill and Barry's restraining grasps, lunging for the fiery inferno.

"Chris, no!" Between them, the two STARS managed to wrestle their friend to the ground and hold him as flames devoured the lab below. All around them, the remnants of their mercenary team salvaged what remained of their dignity, taking stock of injuries and damage. Leon stood to one side, jaw slack, fire reflected in the pupils of his eyes.

"Jill," said Mitchell, an old army contact. She climbed off Chris reluctantly, ensuring that Barry had him in hand before joining the surly looking war veteran near one of their three choppers.

"I know," she replied.

"It ain't like I'm blaming you, Valentine. But what the hell'd ya expect us to do here?"

She shrugged helplessly. "She's his sister, Mitch. Wouldn't you go after your sister if someone like Wesker got his hands on her?"

"If I had a sister? Maybe I would. Doesn't change the fact you led us into a death trap there."

"You're exaggerating. No one died." Her words faded into the chill air, and she realized how false she may have spoken. Still no sign of Wesker, of Ada... of Claire.

Mitchell didn't seem to notice. "No thanks to you. You and Redfield grossly underestimated this guy. That or you mislead us deliberately."

He towered over her, vicious and deadly. Jill glared in response. "Maybe both. Don't beat around the bush like this, Mitch. Come on and say what you're thinking."

His gaze traveled towards Chris, softening slightly. "Look, I get why you did it. But this was a hopeless situation. Maybe now you can get him to accept that Claire ain't coming back."

Jill's stomach clenched. She followed Mitch's gaze to where Chris hunched in the snow, Barry bent over him and speaking softly. "You're asking for the impossible, Mitch."

"Well, you better do something fast, Jill. Speaking as a friend. That guy's right on the edge and no mistake. See it enough times and you get to recognize the look."

Jill bobbed her head. "Mitch, thanks. Even if things didn't work just the way we planned..."

"Hey, like you said -- no one died. But in case I forget to mention it, you can consider our debt repaid."

She inclined her head in acknowledgment as Mitch whistled and waved a hand to the rest of his crew. A few muttered farewells, and those not associated with Mitch hung around a little longer, but before long Jill found herself alone with Barry, Chris, and Leon.

Leon still hadn't said a word. Jill glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, taking in his preoccupied expression, the slightly alien strain on his muscles -- a tense pose that looked vaguely familiar. She'd seen Wesker stand that way before.

She hesitated a moment before moving to Chris, crouching by his side. "Hey," she said softly.

His gaze was still blank. She gently tipped his head onto her shoulder, and he let himself be held, neither speaking nor crying. She exchanged worried glances with Barry.

"We can scout around," he told Chris quietly. "See if there's any sign of her. She still might have escaped."

Slowly, Chris nodded. Barry glanced at each of them in turn, then holstered his magnum and jogged off into the snow.

Chris drew in a few shaky breaths and turned to face Leon. "What the hell happened in there?"

Leon continued staring into space. "I don't know what to tell you."

"Well, you could start with why the hell you're suddenly Superman."

"I'm not Superman, I'm Virusman." Leon smiled, his own joke falling flat. "What can I say? He injected me with something. I don't know what."

"And Claire?"

"I don't think so. She seemed the same as always."

Jill tightened her grip on Chris' shoulders as he trembled violently. "_Why_?" he demanded, seemingly of no one. "What the hell was she doing?"

Leon hunkered down beside them. Jill leaned against Chris' shoulder, trying to ignore the cold damp snow seeping through her clothes. "I'm not sure," Leon explained slowly. "I keep thinking of something she said to me, a long time ago -- that he didn't seem happy."

"Who?"

"At the time I thought she meant Steve. But now I'm not so sure. I think she might have been talking about... Wesker."

Chris straightened, blinking. "You mean you think she went back for him? But... why..."

"It's just a guess. I can't think what else she'd go back for."

"She gave her life for that monster?"

"Chris, calm down," Jill cautioned, stroking his arm. They watched Barry emerge from the valley, the expression on his face telling them his search had been fruitless. For a long time the four of them stood in the snow, staring at the smoking lab that had become Claire Redfield's funeral pyre.

"Let's go," said Chris at last. He turned to the chopper and walked away without a backward glance.

Barry followed. Leon and Jill remained, standing side by side. "What now?" Jill asked softly.

Leon shrugged. "We go on. I'm not sure she's dead, Jill. I just... I can't believe it."

"Don't say that in front of Chris," she advised.

"Don't worry."

Their eyes met and they shared a genuine smile, one of the first Jill could remember. "Come on," she said. "Let's go."

"Go? Where?"

"Wherever life takes us. Wherever Umbrella is." She reached out and squeezed his arm. "We're going to need each other, Leon. We have to be a team from now on. None of this would have happened if we'd just trusted each other in the first place."

"You mean if _I'd_..."

"No, that's not what I meant at all." She slid her hand down to his and squeezed again. "Come on, Leon. Walk away."

And at last, he squeezed his eyes shut and did.

Jill followed, the scent of smoke still heavy on the air. _This isn't over_, she thought to herself, jogging to catch up to her men. _But it will be. _

Because we're going to finish it.

_End part two. Part three (of three) coming soon!_


End file.
